Álom az álomban
by MiraMizu15
Summary: Elizaveta and Gilbert live in a world painted black, but they've never known any differently. Enemies are emerging, in the unknown and in one another. Can love flourish with no light? PruHun, Spamano, TaiwJap, USBel, PolLiet, ect.
1. Set In Motion

**::A/N:: Well I really hope everybody enjoys this. I don't own Hetalia. If I did,... well I don't XD The title, if you're interested, means 'a dream within a dream' in Hungarian. It comes from the poem of the same name (in English) by Edgar Allen Poe. The quotes at the beginning of each chapter are from that poem.  
><strong>**These are not the countries, but the people, so here's a list of human names, I'll update the list as the people come along. Don't worry, most of them are coming along XD**

**Roderich = Austria**

**Elizaveta = Hungary**

**Gilbert = Prussia **

**This is most likely going to turn into an M story (for shameless smut and bloody gore) but until then, it's just a T~**

**PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW**

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><p>Elizaveta POV<p>

_Fogd ezt a csók után a homlokát! ~ Take this kiss upon the brow!  
>És az elválás most, ~ And, in parting from you know,<br>Így sokkal hadd elismer ~ Thus much let me avow-_

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><p>"Is right now really the time to do this, Elizaveta?" his tired voice begs of me. The purple bruises of fatigue match the violet of the half-closed eyes they rest under. I'm sure my cheek bones harbor the same. Too bad the fire in my heart can't burn away physical fatigue as it can the mental and emotional counterparts. Sleep is far from my mind now.<p>

"Roderich, you said that I was whore. I think it's beyond time for us to do this," I demand, surprised, but pleased, at the stoic quality of my voice.

"I didn't-"

"Don't. Not tonight Roderich. I can't take any more of this forced serenity. Be honest."

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then, "The way you look at men is disgusting for a woman of your status!"

"Disgusting? Woman of my status? What is disgusting is the way we are able to dive into fighting with such ease, Roderich!"

"Ease? EASE? You think this is easy for me? Fighting with you?"

For a minute, my heart jumps a little. _Are you going to apologize_? I think.

"You wanted us to fight, for God's sake! My girlfriend shouldn't be fighting with me! It is warrant for people to talk, Eliza!"

"Oh I'm so sorry," I drawl, my chest beginning to tighten with numbness. "I didn't realize how much of a topic I am between being a whore and an instigator."

"Ja-!" he starts, almost slipping into his native German. "Yes, you are a whore!" His recovery isn't nearly as fluid as it ought to be.

"I wish to know how you can think that about me, Roderich!"

"You flutter your eyes and flaunt your hips as a taken woman! It is hardly a difficult conclusion to result upon!"

"Excuse me for blinking and walking!" I scream at him, balling my fists against the tight muscle defining my legs. I am being juvenile, I know I am, but the anger beats over the rationality.

"You do more than blink and walk! What about all of those times you go and visit _Gilbert?_ What are you two doing?"

"WORKING!"

"Is that all? _Just working_? I find that hard to believe."

"Well you shouldn't! Because he's a world class ass hole, and he will never be you, Roderich!" _Please, here my apology, Roddy. Please give one of your own._

"You are a bad liar, Elizaveta."

"What?" I gasp, dumbfounded. "You still say that?"

"Yes, I have heard that you two do more than work. My friend said he saw you at a bar with that man, Eliza. Why would you enjoy pleasantries with someone you hate?"

"I can't go to have a drink every once in a while after work? He's a fr-... well he's a ... GOTT our relationship is complicated Roderich!"

"That is exactly my point. It is too complicated for you to trust me with it."

"Nem! I've just known him forever, that's all! That's the only reason we spend time together! I would never keep anything from you Roderich!" I cry, realizing too late, that it isn't true.

"Then what do you two do?"

"NOTHING! We just-"

"I mean for work, Eliza," he murmurs, cutting me off. Someone who didn't know Roderich would think his hushed voice a sign of defeat. I know he's just becoming more dangerous. He is volatile in his whispers.

"I.. I told you," I whimper, realizing where this is inevitably going. _I can't tell you_. "We.. we handle business for a corporation."

"Which corporation?"

_Please no more questions!_ I beg silently. "It's.. um.. a big one," I trail off lamely, pushing a strand of my long brunette locks away from my face; a nervous habit.

"Eliza," the man in front of me sighs. He's shaking his head, like I'm some sort of naughty daughter rather than his frantic lover. "I fail to see any reason for me to continue to trust you."

I raise an eyebrow. I know my green eyes are flashing. How dare he? "How dare you," I whisper.

"Eliza, it only makes sense-"

"It doesn't make a fucking ounce of sense, you fucktard," I snarl.

"Eliza, don't do this. Look, lets just try to get some sleep-"

"Don't you dare cop out now, bastard," I hiss, taking a leaf out of a foul-mouthed co-worker's book. "First I'm a whore, then you insult my virginity, which I will have you know is long intact and definitely over due. But no. I _respected _you enough to never press you. You know you're the biggest pussy I've ever met. You can't even have sex with your girlfriend. So don't you fucking dare tell a virgin she's a whore, asshole. Then – oh, don't worry, this gets funnier – you tell me that I'm screwing around instead of working. You _would be_ the kind of boyfriend a girl would cheat on because you're certainly the kind of boyfriend to mistake their virgin lover as a slut. Rest assured, I can tell you with every confidence, that that girl is not me. So get off your fucking high horse, look me in the face, and tell me you honestly believe the shit pouring out of your mouth."

Roderich looks at me, frozen. It's the most emotion I've seen from him in weeks. Oh the beauteous irony.

"Fucking answer me, or I'm leaving, Roderich Edelstein, and I am _never _coming back." I rest a perfectly manicured hand on the door frame. He notices the silent threat.

His business eyes narrow, calculating the expenses of my departure. What will he have to pay in my absence? Even matters of the heart can become equations. Finally, he says, "I don't trust you, Eliza, and I don't think it wise to love someone like you. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience." The look in his eyes is mournful, like he wishes he could have done better with me. No, the look in his eyes says he wishes he could have done better **than **me.

"Then we're through here. When I'm finished packing I will leave." I turn to go, but my eyes fall on an expensive vase Roderich bought me for our 1 year anniversary. It is absolutely hideous. I knock it to the floor nonchalantly with a simple brush of my arm. The finely crafted clay explodes against the oiled wood floorboards. His sharp intake of breath is the exact reaction I wanted. "I always hated that vase you know," I smile. "Was it terribly expensive? Oh, that's right." My grin turns into a leer, pulling up the corners of my face into a hideous grimace, to which my muscles complain. "You conveniently left the price tag on it when you gave it to me. Was it four digits? My bad. At least it wasn't your piano, igen?"

"You're a crazy bitch, Elizaveta Hedervary," he snarls.

The step I take towards Roderich is a little bit insane. All that goes through my head are images of this man bleeding, dying, and regretful. The blood lust wells up, threatening, begging, to boil over, but a stab interrupts my murderous train of thoughts. I look down to see Roderich's savior. It's a shard of pottery stuck in the skin of my heel. I grudgingly thank the pain; the broken vase might well stop me from breaking Roderich.

"See Roderich? Aren't you glad we had this talk? Have a good life, or then again, don't," I smile vindictively after a moment.

My things are thrown into a bag robotically. There are so few items of mine here. When I moved, Roderich asked me to leave most of my things with my parents. He said he "didn't have enough space". I loved him enough to not fight about it.

It takes one bag before I'm erased from Roderich's flat.

The most ironic thing about all of this, is that my parents died when I was ten. Long before I ever met Roderich. Maybe if I had realized what he had said then, and not lying awake and alone in our king bed during one of his many business trips, my heart wouldn't be dead right now. Maybe.

I leave a purposeful little blood trail with my injured foot. The line leads right out the door, marring the perfect white rug.

_I guess I won't ever be entirely erased from your home, huh, Roddy?_

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><p>"Who the hell are you, fucker? I'll punch you into next week- Oh. Heya Lizzie. What's with the bag?" the man asks, lowering his fist.<p>

"None of your fucking business," I snap, struggling through the little apartment door.

"... Um, you do realize you're in _my_ house, right?" he asks in his deep baritone, with its slight German accent, as he quickly gets out of my way.

"Fuck off, fucktard. This isn't even a house."

"Fine," the man announces, flopping down on the beat-up old couch and flicking on his adored flat screen TV. "Feel free to dump your shit in the bedroom."

I ignore his hospitality (rare as it is) and shove my way through the clutter to one of the four rooms that make up the apartment. There's the lovely living room, where I leave the owner flipping between the weather channel and football. There's the bathroom, barely big enough for one; the bedroom, which has the best view of the neighbors (who, when you're lucky, you get to see vacuuming naked); then the kitchen which is entirely unused. In the place of actual food are porno magazines and a mini-fridge stocked full of beer. German beer.

Getting to my destination, the bedroom, is a struggle. Despite my bag being nearly empty and my weight at 115, I'm still too fat to fit through the door. This is a prime example of his shitty living space.

The bedroom contains one bed, whose sheets are strewn haphazardly around what might be a collection of other furniture. Of course, that would be impossible to know. It looks like the mens' wear section of the Mall threw up all over the place. I can't see past the band tees and boxers to even begin to fathom what's underneath. Personally, I think it's the pants section of his closet, but he claims there's a couch somewhere in here.

I glance around, and quickly find what I'm looking for: the corner of the room where a collection of suitcases are stacked precariously on top of one another. All the things I couldn't bring to Roddy's. I throw my one bag on top of the mountain. It wobbles dangerously for a second, before finding its center.

A tiny part of me knows I should at least explain to my host why the hell I'm here, or thank him for letting me store my shit in his tiny living space, but my pride doesn't let me. Instead I sink down onto the king bed and cry. I cry out everything. My body is shaking so hard, I am forced to curl up into a fetal position to try to get it to stop.

"Lizzie, make sure you're breathing," comes a voice.

"Go away, Beilschmidt," I say hastily, trying to wipe away my tears. I don't cry. I just don't. And I don't want Gilbert seeing the start of an era or anything.

After a moment, it seems like he's left. Then I feel an insistent poking to my ribcage.

"Quit it asshole!" I yell, trying to squirm away.

"Liz you're being prissy," he says, forcefully continuing the onslaught.

After several minutes of a one-sided poke war, he says, "You know you're one of the only people who's ever been able to pronounce my last name right, and the only person who pronounced it right on the first try. Even my brother and I had to practice. Funny right?"

"No," I sniff. "That's stupid. Is that your pathetic way of trying to cheer me up, Gilbert? Or is that your way of trying to distract me from the bruises forming on my ribs?"

"Yup, isn't it awesome?" he asks, choosing neither of the options.

"Not really. It's kind of sucks."

"That hurts, Lizzie. It really does."

"Well not as much as my back," I skeptically note.

"You're getting snot on my sheets," he offers as explanation.

"You're an asswipe."

"So are you, and yet, for some reason, I still welcome you into my house she-man," Gil grins.

I sit up and punch him. "That was hardly a welcome. And this isn't a house."

He clambers up from the floor, holding his arm theatrically. "Fuck."

"You are such a dick," I say, a small smile picking its way at my lips.

"And an awesome one at that, darling," he grins, pulling me up from his bed. (He's right. There's a big puddle of liquid sadness on the blanket.) "Okay tonight I'm going clubbing, and you're coming with." His voice coaxes me from my incremental amount of guilt.

"No thanks."

"I didn't offer it as a choice, Lizzie. So I'm not sure what was in that bag you brought, but if it wasn't clothes, then wear that black lacy tank top in the green suitcase with the little frying pans on it. It'll make you look sexy despite the puffy, red eyes."

"Hey, you are so- Wait. You've been through my bags?" I gasp, rushing over to them.

"It was your prerogative to leave them here."

"Fuck! And since when have you known how to correctly use the word prerogative?"

"Since I've been watching this drama on-"

"_Soap operas? _You're sure you're not gay?" I query, cutting him off.

"Oh, I am beyond sure, babe. I can show you-"

My high heel impales him in the face, and he staggers out of the door frame.

"It's not my fault my cable was cut!" Gil yells from the other room, his voice muffled by a bloody nose. I slam the door with a solid thud and earn a "SHUT THE FUCK UP, GILBERT" from the upstairs neighbors.

After a minute, I walk over to the suitcase with the kitchen equipment adorning it. Indeed, in prominent display, is the top Gil was talking about.

"Fucking pervert Prussian, who's fucking desperate and fucking nosy and a shitty fucktard! There's no way I would ever fucking wear anything that shit hole suggests." The string of muttered insults ensues as I pull the shirt over my wavy brown hair.

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><p><strong>::AN:: Well this is kind of my first Hetalia fic with a plot (there's more to come). I'm kind of nervous about this fic, so reviews/favorites/story alerts would be great! They'll keep me motivated to write more~**

**Translations (as few as there are in this chapter)-**

**Ja (German) – Yes**

**Nem (Hungarian) – No/Not **

**Igen (Hungarian) - Yes**

**Reviews = LOTS OF COOKIES! OR CAKE! I HAVE ICE CREAM TOO! Whatever you prefer~! Please, just review!**

**Was it stupid? Too fast? Bad format? Too choppy? Questions? Please review~**


	2. Welcome Players One and Two

**::A/N:: Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. **

**So after a review and a little researching, Google Translate has let me down again -.- The title, in rough translation, means "a dream within a dream", not exact translation. I've decided, because of lack of anything better, when I do put quotes at the beginning, I'm just going to leave them in English XD Sadly, I'm not a fluent Hungarian speaker yet. I'm bent on learning, however!**

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed and story alerted! It means so much to me. Some people said it was confusing, so if it is/was, please tell me why! I will attempt to lesson the confusion. Unless of course, confusion is what you're supposed to be feeling. I do want a little bit of mystery surrounding some of this. ALL WILL BE ANSWERED EVENTUALLY. **

**(All new characters in this chapter are merely mentioned)**

**Vash = Switzerland**

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><p>Elizaveta POV<p>

_You are not wrong, who deem  
>That my days have been a dream;<em>

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><p>I grip the edge of the sink, trying desperately to practice patience and tranquility, but the couple engaging in their heated PDA are driving me nuts. Can they not, simply take care to breath? Or be classy enough to get a room, rather than a <em>bathroom stall<em>? One of them isn't even allowed in here! Finally I can't take it anymore.

"Shut the hell up! Not everybody needs you face-suckers to remind them that they don't have a boyfriend!" I scream, kicking their door and stalking out of the bathroom.

This club sucks balls. I am all game to blame every last bit of my shitty night on Gilbert. Every last bit. Each foul second can be dealt to his cranium with various pieces of kitchen equipment. It can. I will make it happen myself. I just need to find him first.

The club itself actually isn't that bad. Okay, it's one of the cooler ones I've ever been to. Why did Gil have to pick _tonight _to get me to enjoy it? It's not fair.

I stomp forward, very aware of the scene this makes in high heels. These idiots probably think I'm PMSing. _Well that would be inaccurate, fucktards! I just finished my period! _I scream silently, glaring particularly viscously at an emo couple. Maybe not the best move... they glare back with twice as much intensity. _Well I guess if your life is a black pit of hell, you have to be good at something, igen?_ The malicious thought just pops into my pissed off brain. The guilt now poking at me pisses me off more. I amp up my pace to pass the couple more quickly. The last thing I need is a fight.

With the bass pumping loudly in my ears, and the tug of bodies threatening to pull me down, I finally see Gil. His crimson eyes are focused on a blonde girl straddled across his lap as he lounges obnoxiously across the bench behind our table. The girl's boobs are huge, and she seems to have forgotten to get dressed past her underwear.

"Hey, whore!" I yell, approaching the two of them. "Go get money off some bastard who can actually pay their rent."

She slides off of Gil with a pout. He watches her go with disinterest. "That was mean Lizzie."

"Oh shove it up your ass," I snarl, my hands creeping up to rest angrily on my hips. "Why the hell are we here?"

"Because you obviously needed some fun, she-man. And I was hoping to get laid. That was, until you scared that girl away."

"Can we leave? We're not supposed to be here anyways."

"We can be wherever we want."

"We really can't. Now _lets go._"

Gilbert eyes me momentarily. "Dance with me."

"What?"

"Dance with me, Elizaveta."

"Why?"

"Because I enjoy this song, and you owe me one for frightening off my potentially awesome evening with your ugliness."

"You suck."

He stands and holds out a hand to me.

"Fine. One freaking dance. One. Then we're leaving," I begrudge him.

"Yeah, yeah sure. Whatever you say," Gil mumbles for my benefit, taking my wrist and dragging me out into the middle of the club.

We dive into the mass of people, pushing into a space amidst pressing sweaty bodies. The music is fast, jerky, and it pumps through my veins. The bass wracks up my blood, stirring it, and readying me to fly. I move slowly at first, slithering back and forth in time with the music. I bounce on my heels, my abdomen twisting around. On command with the voice pounding into my soul, my arms lift above my head, to move with the rest of me. A hand comes to my waist, spinning me around. Red orbs stare into my eyes. Our palms meet in the space between us. They create the bridge. Like we've practiced for our entire lives, I tune into his every thought. His desires are my desires. His instincts are my instincts. His body is an extension of mine. His heart beat pounds to the same tempo as mine. We connect on another level, and we begin to dance. This time, together.

He presses closer. I bring my body directly to him, before twisting away, his hands mirroring my waist. My fingers trail down his sides as I slide down him. We are in perfect sync.

More than one song plays while we spin around one another, dancing a battle of beauty. When we subconsciously finish, I find him inches away. For once, it bothers me. I separate our heaving bodies with an arm length.

"Beer," we harmonize, still in tune. "You're paying."

I point a menacing finger at him. "If we're staying, you're paying."

"What? That's so unfai-"

My fingers curl into a fist.

"-unfair of me to ever offer otherwise," he amends.

"Bravo. Beer. Now."

"Fine, she-man. Let's go!" He struts on ahead of me, smirking at every scantily-clad woman in the vicinity. With every stripper that passes us, I want more and more to punch Gil in the face and proceed to set fire to a big-ass wooden pole and see if those bitchy strippers want to flaunt their shit then.

"Sticke Alt!" Gil shouts at the barman.

"We don't have it," the barman growls.

"Of course you fucking don't. Weizenbock, then," Gil grunts.

"For the lady?" The man's voice changes dramatically, now spinning a sweet, intoxicating tune in my direction. I prefer this to the immediate dislike he threw at Gil (well really, who likes Gil on the first go?), but it throws _me _off guard.

"Uh," I say, with incredible articulation.

"She wants the same thing," Gil growls.

That snaps me back to reality. "No I fucking don't! Pilsner, please."

The handsome man smiles at me. I flash him a grin back.

"Why did you order a Pilser?" Gilbert snaps, glaring into my eyes.

"Because I want to drink one."

He turns away, confusion written all over his face. I think I know where he's coming from. Pilsner was Roddy and I's drink. Yes, we had a 'drink'. Some couples may have a sappy romantic ballad; we had a beer. But Gil doesn't know Roderich broke up with me, so why Gilbert cares is baffling, but what confuses me more is why I ordered the Pilsner at all.

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><p>"Er, how many drinks have we- hic -had?" I chuckle, pulling on Gilbert's heavy jacket.<p>

"Um.. lots, right?"

"Igen!" The next few moments are aimed at making my way up the four, ice-covered, stairs to the building's front door.

"You stayin' here, ja?" Gil asks, taking my face in his two giant hands.

"Yesh," I slur, trying to poke his chest. I miss and end up jabbing his arm.

Getting inside, I almost trip over the door mat, but grab onto the banister to save myself.

"Shhhhhh~" Gil whispers into his finger.

"Mmkay!" I scream.

"Mmm, no, quiet!" Gil tries again.

I break into hysterical laughter, almost ending up on the rug.

The problem facing him is too much for Gil's dying brain, and he just claps a pale hand over my mouth, effectively shutting me up. I flop into his arms. His attempt at carrying me up the stairs fails, so my aching feet drag across the stair rug. Two flights later, Gil's having an immensely hard time fitting his key into his lock.

"My... turn~," I coo, taking the key and slamming it home. "Yay..."

"Everything's black...," Gil mutters, opening the door.

"Igen... No lights. They want to kill us!" I warble, tripping over a shoe. I tumble into what conveniently turns into the bedroom. "I find it!"  
>"Imma... follow... your pretty little voice, mmkay?"<p>

"Kay. La la la la la la la la la, ohh look a bird! Oh, no. No it's not a bird. It's a plane. I wanna bird! GIIIILLLLBBBIIIRRDD!"

A giant hand thumps onto my head.

"Find you," I giggle.

"This.. is the bedroom." Gil sounds utterly depressed.

"Igen."

"I thought... you saw... more beer."

"Nem. Stupid."

"Nein..."

"Igen..."

"Bedtime?"

"Yesh," I mumble.

I feel his hand tug me towards the center of the room. My knees run into the bed frame and I collapse in a heap on the quilt. I feel his form fall next to me. In my drunken haze, I slowly crawl up the mattress. I feel for the steady rising and falling of his chest. With tired certainty, I snuggle closer to my vexing friend.

* * *

><p>A blinding flash of light streams into my closed eyelids. I twist around, trying to stuff my face into some sort of pillow. All I get is the crook of an arm. Not good enough.<p>

I sit up, wondering why Roddy has decided to sleep so close to me this morning. If he could build the Berlin Wall in our bed, he would. I blink a few hundred times, waiting for my eyes to stop watering from the brightness and waiting for my head to stop pounding. The former is answered after several minutes. The latter isn't. All I can make out is a form on the bed beside me. Did we always have sheets with cute little birds on them? I thought we only had plain white sheets...

The man next to me squirms around, revealing a startling shock of white hair. Well, it would be startling if I hadn't seen it nearly everyday since the tender age of five.

Mr. Gilbo Beilschmidt.

I scramble away from him as fast as humanly possible while nursing a migraine. I'm really fit, so it's pretty damn fast. With my back pressed against the wall, I evaluate the situation.

_What happened last night, again? _I think, trying to recall my whereabouts. _Oh right. That effing bar. And that ridiculous number of drinks. GOTT, I need to remember to stop drowning my sorrows away... wait, my sorrows? Oh. Oh that's right. Fuck Roderich Edelstein! _

I brush away a tear, roughly. It's the stupid tear's fault for falling. I'm not actually _sad _over losing Roddy. But just to be safe, I let a few more tears through.

_But Gil and I... nem. We just fell asleep together. Phew. _

Gil lets out a grumpy grunt from the bed. The sheet is tangled around his legs. He looks like a dog who gets all caught up in their leash. Only, there's no way I'm helping Gil free. That's getting a little too close to certain places for my taste.

Deciding to just leave the man asleep, I walk to the kitchen. The view through the window is just _breath taking_. I get an almost-clear shot at the opposite wall of the alley. In fact, we're so close, I can actually see the gum moldering into the nasty bricks. The only scar upon this brilliant setting is the fire escape ladder.

I turn away from the window to the actual room. Narrowing my eyes at the quest I've put upon myself, I swear out loud, "I **will **find some real food in here!" before rolling up my sleeves and setting to work. First the porno magazines are moved to the growing stack of crap on the 'kitchen table' as Gil likes to call it. In reality it's a stack of milk crates. After I make sure that I won't be crushed by an avalanche of beer cans and dirty porn while excavating the kitchen, I move onto the cabinets. He's got to have ramen or _something_, right? When the very first thing I pull from the cabinet closest to me is a box of five-year-old condoms, I almost except defeat. Then I see a silver glint. I stretch my fingers and everything else, trying to reach what I'm praying is something edible. My nails latch into the plastic and I pull out... a condom wrapper. Why is Gil so disgusting? Who keeps condoms in their _kitchen_?

Something black flickers in the window. I whirl around. I wait a few silent moments, but don't see the offender again. I wonder nervously what it was. It couldn't have been a bird. It was too big, and birds have a hard time flying in the alley. It might have been a cat...

I go back to my search.

"Liz? What time is it?" comes Gil's scratchy voice.

"I don't know! I do know that it's taken me at least half an hour, and I've still found nothing to eat!" I snap at him. The box of condoms smacks him in the side of the head.

"Ow. Why are you throwing my stuff?" he asks blearily, trying to take in my pissed off appearance.

I walk right up to him, finger in the air. When I'm as close as possible, I whisper, "The apartment isn't safe anymore."

Gil's eyes widen, but he nods, continuing the charade. "You crazy she-man, threatening the awesome me isn't cool!"

"I can't help but threaten an ass hole who does nothing to pay the rent around here!"

"Hey!" Gil shouts, moving to the cupboard, "I work my butt off all day long! Here's some effing cereal!" He throws the box across the room at me. I catch it. It's heavier than a box of cereal should be. I open it. Inside rests a shiny black gun amidst a scattering of old cereals bits. I smirk.

"It's stale!" I yell, pulling a particularly nasty piece out and throwing at him.

"Be grateful woman!" he bellows, grabbing another box.

"Why do you get the good food?" I shriek.

"I run this house!"

"It isn't a house!" I say out of habit.

Gil winces, but only partially because of the injury to his pride. The charade was all about us being an unhappily married couple. Usually abused wives don't insult their own houses.

A crash resounds throughout the four rooms. I whip out my gun, abandoning the old cereal in the process, and dive behind the stack of milk crates. I see Gil crouching behind the mini-fridge. He motions for quiet. I nod. I'm not about to mess this up for a fucking second time. No way.

Silence surrounds the tiny flat. I hear my breath echoing rhythmically, a clock ticking away the time we have left to crouch here like prey. The slits in the blue plastic milk crates allow a vantage point. A tall languid shape makes itself clear. The man is tall, maybe 6 foot 1 and built. His face is hidden behind a crude ski mask. It's two sizes too small, and riding up his chin. The scruff of a beard is starting there. He's been looking for us, then.  
>The sound of heavy footsteps jerks me into action. I slide my hand out from the barricade. There's an old grimy mirror to the right of his head. I aim carefully, taking into consideration the added bulk of the silencer perched at the tip of my 9MM pistol. The mirror shatters.<p>

"What the hell?" he swears, whirling around.

Gil throws himself out from behind the fridge. He takes advantage of the distraction by placing the gun to the intruder's left temple and pulling the trigger.

I sit, shocked for a moment. "Good thing you had a silencer, too," I finally mutter, standing and gracefully stepping across the red stream now trickling across the floor tiles.

"What? You seem surprised."

"Nem. Not really. It's just been so long, you know?"

"Ja. It's been a year and a half now."

"I'm going to miss the vacation."

"Me too, but it was only a matter of time," Gil grumbles, bending over the corpse.

I rip off the ski mask revealing a chiseled chin and a large nose.

"Looks Russian," Gil grunts.

"Don't be an idiot. His accent wasn't Russian."

"...So?"

I smack the top of his head. "So I guess we owe Vash a little visit."

"Ugh, if we have to," Gil groans.

"We have to. And he's not going to be pleased about this." I point to the body on the floor.

"He's never pleased about anything."

"That's true," I snicker.

"So... what do you wanna do with the body? I can think of a few things _you _can do, cause you know, I'm not gay..."

Whipping out my frying pan, I glare down at the now twitching bleeding Prussian at my feet. "Bastard. Go get creepy porn off the internet."

"Fuck, Lizzie. That_ hurt_!"

"Just get the matches," I snap, walking away from the murder scene.

I enter Gil's bedroom quickly, and grab my bag at the bottom of **The Pile**. It's my emergency bag. Everything a girl needs, plus ammo. I heft it over my shoulder before bending to reach under Gil's bed. A matching bag rests among the clutter there. I yank it from its den and bring them both to the kitchen.

Gilbert has a black wine bottle in his hands. He's sprinkling the contents within all over the dead man.

"Oil?" I ask.

"Gas."

"What about the rest of the apartment? If the cops come and only find a burning body, it's over."

"I've taken care of it."

"How?" I grab the box of matches off the kitchen counter and throw it to my partner.

"I had this house heated with natural gas when I moved in. They thought I was some sort of environment freak, totally un-awesome. Anyway, I've fried one of the lines. The minute we spark this place, the whole thing's going up," Gil says seriously, trying to light a wad of matches.

"Oh. Great plan. Good thing you can teleport us out of your apartment before it explodes in our faces."

"Wha- OH SHUT UP, SHE-MAN!"

"YOU DIDN'T THINK THIS THROUGH! You _never_ think anything through!" I wail.

"We'll just jump out a window or something! I'm so awesome, that maybe I'll catch you at the bottom."

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!"

"Well fine!" Gil shouts, waving the matches around. That's when we both notice: one of them is lit.

"Oh fuck," we both mutter.

I slam the kitchen window open, glancing down at the alley below. We're only two stories up, thank Gott. I step backwards, and Gil throws both our bags out the window.

I steady myself on the ledge. My heart is pounding, a million beats per second. _Oh shit. Oh shit. _I chant inwardly. Or maybe it's out loud. Right now I can barely tell left from right, so who the fuck know if I'm mentally stable! _WHY? Why did the vacation have to be cut short? It isn't fair! Gott, I haven't jumped out of a two story window in ages! AGES! It's just so out of the blue, I'm out of fucking practice. But if I don't jump out of the fucking window, Gil will fucking try to catch me at the fucking bottom!_

I turn back to look in the apartment for a fraction of a second. Gil is looking at me, so he doesn't see, but I see him. His eyes are wide and frightened. They fear for his life, but his body won't let him push me out of the way, allowing his own safety. He's waiting, watching the flame eat its way down the match, the longer it takes, the more pale skin burns. But he's not trying to escape. Not until I get out.

And that settles it. With the air sucking in its breath around me, I fall. The jarring impact upon landing hurts like a bitch. I take it in a roll, however, finally sliding into the snow bank with a painful thump. The back of my head cracks against the neighboring apartment building. Stars flash in my head. The space behind my green eyes throbs painfully while I sit stunned.

A incredible boom throws me back for a second time with its power and blinding heat. A maw of boiling fire erupts from Gil's flat and begins eating the three higher floors with voracious fury. My smarting eyes just make out the plummeting form of a man, before he hits the snow, and disappears within.

"_GIL!_" I try to scream, but all that comes from my lips is a harsh, scratchy shriek. Not effective.

As if to prove that point, he doesn't rise from the snow, or answer me in any way. I cough the ash and raw skin away. "Gil!" I call out, and this time, it's audible.

But nothing answers me. Shit. I stumble over to the snow bank, my knees crashing against the street. How the hell did he manage to get stuck in the largest snow bank in a 5-mile radius? I brush away the snow crystals with trembling fingers. My hands are becoming numb. But then I touch snowy white hair. I grab a fistful of it unceremoniously before hiking him up, out of the snow.

"Ow, fuck... Lizzie.. five more minutes, she-man!" he mutters. I give a final yank, intent on getting his legs out of the drift, and we both fall backwards, hard, onto the icy street.

"OW!" I holler at my throbbing tailbone, but my voice is drowned out by sirens. "Fuck. Gil, get the fuck up! Please!"

"Mein Gott, all right, I'm awake!"

"WE'RE CURRENTLY RUNNING FROM THE LAW! LIKE USUAL!" I scream at him, trying to get his sluggish, idiotic brain to remember our situation.

"_Scheiß_," he hisses, jumping to his feet, bowling me over in the process. An ashen hand reaches down to help me up, and I grudgingly accept it. "We need to go, ja?"

"Igen," I nod. I pick up both our bags, handing the heavier one to Gil. We walk quickly away from the scene, taking in the firetrucks and masses of people. We can't get caught now. I pull Gil by the hand, and we blend in easily with the onlookers. Finally, as the last resident is pulled safely from the fiery explosion, we leave everything behind.

"I'm going to miss my awesome house," Gil sighs dramatically.

I'm torn between two responses. Finally, "It's not a house."

"Not anymore," Gil agrees.

* * *

><p><strong>::AN::**

**So theres's chapter 2. It's got more action, obviously, and I'm developing characters more. Please, please review about how it is~**

**Translations:**

**Nein (German) = No**

**Mein Gott (German) = My God**

_**Scheiß **_**(German) = Shit**

**Thank you for taking the time to read this ^u^ I welcome questions about my stories, so if you're confused, feel free to elaborate past just saying "I'm confused" ^u^ Sorry if you dislike the action part just being sprung like that. Complaints? Review. Raves? Review. Questions? Review. Hopes? Review. Dreams? Review. Flames? Don't review. Oh, and if any of my characters are OOC, please let me know~**

**What does everyone think length wise? From here on, I'm going to be doing other POVs ect, so my chapters will probably be longer (and take longer) so any input? **

**Thanks so much~**


	3. Where Is Homebase?

**::A/N:: I don't own Hetalia -.-**

**O.o my third chapter already? I was so worried about the feedback for this fic, I never really visualized myself writing this. Aw, yay! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS! Oh, they really kept this fic alive. **

**So as I promised, the POVs are varying. Tell me if this works~**

**Mei = Taiwan  
><strong>**Kiku = Japan  
><strong>**Yao = China  
><strong>**Lily = Lichtenstein  
><strong>**Feliciano/Feli = North Italy  
><strong>**Ludwig = Germany**

* * *

><p><em>Yet if hope has flown away<br>In a night, or in a day,_

* * *

><p><strong>Mei POV<strong>

_The red arch ascends from the ground into the welcoming sky, standing as the spiritual bridge between the two. Hands hold themselves outward, asking for it. Begging for it._

_He stands, silhouetted, at the top, a katana in slender fingers. It's sharp blade curves towards the earth, warning the beings above us that he's waiting for them. _

_He's beside me. He whispers to the wind, breath brushing my cheek. I can barely make out his voice. He disappears. My scream is lost to the wind._

_We stand, feet apart, but I barely recognize my lover. He wears Western garb. His katana fades away into a gun. Fear swells around us in the clearing. The mountains, blanketed in jungle, hulk around the border. They disapprove. I warn him. He laughs it away. The string of mountains blend into a green hued dragon. It's back arches as it lunges for my lover, maw spewing onyx flame. An explosion rocks the glade. The dragon lies dead at his feet. _

"_The time has come, Mei. Do you see it's disease?"_

_I slowly tear my eyes from his, to see the blackness eating away the majestic dragon. _

"_Can't we save him?"_

"_I am saving him, Mei. I am saving all of us."_

_The dragon changes into my brother covered in flowers, and everything goes black._

I wake with a gasp. The dream was so real... I shiver. My thin fingers clutch at the silk sheets, however, grounding me to my bed. The sweet smell of sakura blossoms waft through the warm night air, the last of their kind before winter carries them away. I inhale softly.

The nearly-full moon beams sweetly into the room the open windows, falling across me and onto the other side of the bed. It illuminates the beauty of night... and the absence in my heart. The place beside me is empty, like it has been for the past several weeks. Empty and cold, even with the last warm breath the earth offers before winter. I force a small smile onto my pink lips. Maybe it will ease my mind into sleep.

Just as I lay back onto my mat, gently pulling my yukata into place, the door to our room slides open. My fingers slide under my mat, reaching for the dagger.

"Mei?"

It's his voice.

"K..Kiku?" I whisper into the stillness.

"Hai. I.. I missed you Mei," he stutters in careful English.

"I.. I missed you as well, Kiku. Um.. pardon, but what are you doing here? พี่ชาย said nothing of your arrival home."

"Because nii-san does not know."

"Why? Are you planning to surprise him?"

"Hai, it will be a surprise," he agrees, but his voice... it is derisive.

"What is it?"

"He will not like the surprise."

"Why not?"

"Because it will come to him from the mouth of his enemies."

"What do you mean?" I ask, feeling childishly clueless and scared. "Will you not be the one to tell him?"

"I will be."

"Please, Kiku! Do not speak in riddles."

"Gomen nasai, Mei. I mean to say, _I_ will be his enemy. What nii-san, no, what _Yao _is doing is no longer appropriate. He is endangering our family and disturbing the wa. I have contacted men overseas. We are.. extending a friendship to one another. I cannot stand by Yao's side any longer."

"It's different!" I whisper in prayer. I can see the green dragon, breathing its black flames, rising above both of our heads.

"Gomen, what do you mean?"

"That's _all _you have to say to me? Who are the men? Why do you feel that our brother is betraying us? I don't understand, Kiku!" I say, covering my outburst with another.

"Gomen nasai-"

"Stop saying that. Just answer me. Please."

"I... I do not wish to endanger you. Please excuse-"

"Ah, you are always so polite, Kiku. I do not wish you to feel compromised. If you must keep this a secret, so be it." I turn away from my lover, eyes dim. His guarded stance and formal words... he's pulling away. Ever since the day he left. I should have known then. He came back to our room, hand clenched around a piece of paper. His eyes were shadowed. He simply said Yao had sent him away again. Away from home. Away from me. And I had let him go.

The occasional sound of crickets fills the uncomfortable silence. A pressure on the mat drags my eyes back to him. His hand stretches the distance between us, reaching out for what we used to have, the kind of trust we used to harbor in our hearts. When did it fall so far into ruin? Did I allow it to crumble?

He lets his hand fall back against the sheets. I realize too late I was supposed to grab it.

"I.. the time has come for me to depart. Have a very wonderful life, Mei," he murmurs, standing. I watch his figure make its way to the door. He hesitates before sliding it open.

"Wait!" I cry, latching onto the fabric of his clothing. I now see it is a black suit. He is transitioning away from us. He is leaving us. I see it now. The West has changed Honda Kiku. Or, Kiku Honda, as it may be. Only his beautiful profile remains the same, haloed in moonlight. It shines upon his remorse, determination, and his finality. "You.. you are leaving forever."

"I will no longer be welcomed here."

"You will see me again."

"Not if Yao has anything against it. He will, Mei. Do not dream for me."

"Times are changing in the East. I have seen them. They are subtle, but they are coming. Even brother is a part of them. Things will not always be as traditional as they are here, Kiku! Do not let this drive you away."

"Mei Mei. The thing I will miss most is how our family used to be. Changes are coming to all of us. Yao has extended a friendship to other men. Those are the changes you see. I ask you to be careful. Do not associate with these men if it can be helped. Kudasai, Mei."

"What men?"

"My sakura blossom. If you know more than you should, they will hurt you. Know... know I am out there fighting for us."

"I always know that, Kiku."

"Aishiteru." He presses his lips to mine softly, hesitantly. I wrap my fingers around his neck, forcing as much of him onto me as I can. If I cannot say my heart now, then I must forever hold my peace.

"Our intertwined future is bright, Kiku. Do not forget me. I.. I love you so so much."

"Irozuku," he whispers, tasting the way it sounds on his tongue.

I press my forehead to his. "Yes," I breathe.

He pulls gently away, the smallest, sweetest smile upon his lips. "Domo arigatou gozaimashita."

"Doitashimashite," I reply. His smile widens as his own tongue leaves my lips. I pull back slightly, every thread of my being telling me not to. "I will miss you."

"Do not. I will see you soon, hai?"

I nod, trying desperately not to cry.

"Do not worry, I will never forget you, Mei."

The tears fall down my cheeks in rivers. I watch miserably as the last of the sakura fall, a final goodbye from his homeland.

Winter is coming.

* * *

><p><strong>Gilbert POV<strong>

"Watch where you're going, moron! I will fucking sue you!" I holler at the speeding taxi.

"Calm down," Lizzie sighs, wiping fatigue out of her emerald eyes.

"We're almost there," I snap, trying and failing to be comforting.

"I _know _that. We just have to cross the street. That is if you manage to not get flattened. Oh, lucky police officers! One criminal mastermind got themselves run over by a taxi. That just leaves that girl-"

"Okay, lets go," I say grabbing her hand and pulling her back onto the sidewalk.

"What the-," she starts, dodging out of the way of the masses. We're currently battling the flow. But please, I'm awesome enough to get my damsel in distress to a coffee store.

"You need coffee," I inform her, turning away from the oncoming crowd.

"So do you, apparently," she says, yanking me out of the way of a post boy. "Gott, we've grown up in the center of this city and we still nearly die on a regular basis. It's like the heavens have instructed the people to smite us down-"

"Uh, no one's going to 'smite' us down. What an un-awesome way to die," I snort, pulling her into the little shop marked Coffee Morning. Could they be any less original? _What if I want a fucking coffee at night?_

"I don't know," Lizzie muses, getting a far-away please-give-me-coffee-before-I-can-actually-think-this-through-any-further look in her eyes. "It's better than say...," she looks out the window for inspiration. "Ah, it's better than getting crushed by a steam roller." Her eyes bat me around like a cat toy, no doubt imagining _me_ getting flattened by a steam roller.

I book it before her madness becomes reality. Thankfully the line isn't very long. I slouch against the counter, hoping the hot emo chick will take my order, but instead I get the geeky dude. Great.

"What can I get you this morning?"

"Uh... something really strong."

He breaks into some kind of foreign language. I glance around. Uh what the fuck? Am I the only human being in here noticing this guy? I look back to the coffee dude hesitantly. Sure enough, his face tells me I'm supposed to _know_ what the fuck he meant. "...Two of those?" I try.

He nods, satisfied. "Sure, that'll be-"

"NO WAIT!" I glance over to Lizzie. "Hey. Hello. Lizzie. Liz. Liza. Eliza. Elizaveta. She-man!" She finally turns around.

"Yeah?" she says, mouth opening into a little pink yawn. So fucking cute- GACK, not thinking that.

"So you don't cause a scene, what do you want? I almost ordered two of the same thing, but then I remembered how touchy feely you go the other nightt-"

"Um.. whatever you're having," she mumbles, waving her hand in thin air.

"Gott," I mutter, rubbing my temples.

"Women," the nerdy dude agrees.

"Having problems in paradise?" I mutter.

It's taken me so long to buy freaking coffee, another line has started next to me and Nerdy Coffee Dude. Freaking patience anyone?

"Yeah," the guy sighs. I finally place his accent. It's American. Freaking America, shipping their talkative coffee nerds over seas. "My wife is currently ripping up the floor of our house because she just realized this morning, she hates the old tiling I picked out 5 years ago," he says resigned.

I can't help but laugh at this loser's predicament. "That sucks for you. Well at least that one over there isn't going to be a wife any time soon. What a handful," I snicker, jabbing at Liz. I try imagining Lizzie as a wife... Cleaning all the freaking time. Shudder. She'd probably burn the house down before_ that_ happened.

"I don't know, you have a pretty nice looking girlfriend over there. Seems awful stupid."

"G...GIRLFRIEND? Ja, I don't think so."

"Friends with benefits?"

"Nein!"

"Oh well, your loss I suppose. Here's the coffee. 6-"

"About time." I shove four euros and a massive handful of pennies onto the counter. Just to be awesome like that.

* * *

><p><strong>Elizaveta POV<strong>

After the coffee I feel _much_ better.

"Feeling better?" Gil laughs as I trip over a grate and let slip a string of curses. Well, mostly better.

"Igen. Er.. thanks for the coffee."

"Huh?" he asks, taken off guard. "Oh, sure. Any time, she-man."

I want to punch his stupid face in for calling me that. Instead I settle for a quick, "Okay, I'll remember that tomorrow."

"Wha-! Nein. Nein, nein, nein I am not buying you coffee every morning."

I pout at him. "I didn't want it every morning."

I leave Gil spluttering for air at the curb.

We cross with the mass of people, all running for their lives like "idiots", according to Gil. He manages to make it across the intersection with only two near-fatal incidents. Both involving taxis. If only he had run for his life like everybody else.

"Gott, watch where you're fucking going, assholes! It's cause I'm albino isn't it? **Isn't it!**"

"Nah, it's not cause you're a freak, Gilly Willy. People just like hitting you," I reassure him. "Come on, the bank's right there."

He scowls and thrusts his hands into his pockets, strutting along a few feet in back. Well, that's just fine with me.

The majestic beast looming before us is the V.Z. National Bank. The 9 o'clock sun illuminates it in a shining lacquer. Every inch is spotless glass and granite siding. A man shines windows ten stories up. Not a single pigeon sits on the rock, therefore not a single dropping either. The skyscraper is the image of innovation and perfection. Oh Vash.

Gil's scarlet eyes narrow at the ten flawless glass entry doors. My wary expression is hidden by shades. Gil's disappears in the same manner a minute later. Time to go.

The walk into the building is perfect. Nobody bothers us. They don't dare. We approach the black granite welcome desk. Gil slams his hand down, creating a cracking sound that reverberates through the whole atrium. The man behind the desk jumps a mile into the purified air.

"Uh... hello, and welcome to the V.Z. Nation-"

"Danke, we request a private hearing with Lily Zwingli," I say sweetly, flashing my pearly whites.

"L..Lily Z..Zwingli?" he stutters.

"Ja," I confirm. "Is there some sort of problem?" The man's face goes from nervous to downright terrified. I hold back a cackle of laughter. Oh, what's Gil doing behind my back this time?

"Uh.. nein... nein! Nein problem! One moment, please." Little drops of sweat start to bead on his bald forehead. He reaches under the desk, slowly. I freeze. But it's just a sleek silver cellphone he pulls from the recesses.

"That won't be necessary Mr. Guntar. Danke for your time, I will take it from here," a tinkling voice announces.

"Ah! Miss Zwingli! Are you sure? I can call-"

"Security will not be necessary, Mr. Guntar. Please refrain from calling security until I have been notified of my own guests."

"Of course," Guntar stutters. "My sincerest apologies. Mr.. Mr. Zwingli will not be brought into light of this-?"

"Nein," Lily smiles prettily. "I believe you will be able to handle it more efficiently next time."

"Ah, danke, danke."

The 16-year-old young woman turns to us with a, "Follow me Mr. Beilschmidt, Miss Hedervary."

I flash the clerk another winning smile before following Lily. She's grown in the past year and a half, now only a foot shorter than me. Her blonde hair is still cut to the base of her neck, and held in place by a pink ribbon.

We walk in silence to the elevator. She presses one manicured finger to the button before waiting with patience for the cube to arrive. It does with a soft _ding_. A business woman is already inside, but she scampers out when Gil leers at her.

"That was mean, Gilbert," Lily reprimands when the doors slide shut.

"Well we wanted her out, ja?"

"You're supposed to keep a low profile in the bank, moron," I sigh. "Maybe don't scare all the patrons away? Vash'll shoot you or something."

"Ah," Lily tries to interrupt. "Nein, bruder wouldn't-"

"Not before I fuck-"

I kick Gil in the shin.

"Ow, what was that for?" he grumbles. But then his eyes fall on Lily. He has sort of a soft spot for Lily. I can see it when he looks at her. "Er.. sorry, Lily. That wasn't very awesome."

"It's okay," she smiles at him.

He smiles back. One of his rare toothy, crooked, smiles. I turn away. I don't need to see Gil being an obnoxious pedophile.

"So you and Liza are here why?" Lily quizzes Gil, anxiety showing in her heart-shaped face.

"It's not so quiet out there anymore," Gil replies sighing.

"Bruder won't be pleased to hear this."

"We know," Gil grumbles.

Finally the suffocating elevator ride ends, and I scramble out first, almost bowling a slight brown haired man over in the process.

"Ve~ What? Oh! Liza! It is so good to see you!" he squeals, bouncing on his heels.

"Feli!" I shriek, actually bowling him over this time for a hug. "It's been so long! Wait. I thought you were spending time in Italy with Ludwig?"

"Ve, I was," Feli nods seriously, "but Ludwig and I got attacked-"

"What?" Gil roars. "Where is mein bruder now?"

"Right here, Gil," a serious voice comes up behind us. I turn around to see the tall stoic German standing there, hands in the pockets of his cargo pants.

"Bruder!" Gil grins. The two brothers embrace. When they break apart, Gil starts mothering all over him, messing with his hair, fixing his collar, picking at a white bandage on his arm. "What's this?" he asks suspiciously.

"Relax, bruder!"

"He ran into a fence," Feli says helpfully.

"Kesesese~ A fence, Luddy? Really?"

"Don't call me that!"

"Why it's cute! Luddy, Luddy, Luddy- Oh! I could call you Ludz instead!"

"Don't you dare, bruder!"

"Why it's cute! Ludz, Ludz, Ludz-"

I barge between the two brothers before Gil can think up any more embarrassing nicknames. "Ludwig, it's nice to see you again!" I smile, wrapping my arms around the larger, but younger, Beilschmidt.

"Hello, Eliza," he says warmly. "Bruder behaving?"

"Well, he hasn't tried to rape me in the past month, if that's what you mean."

"Hey! Not fair!"

"Ah, not really what I meant," Ludwig grimaces, burning red. "Er.. bruder don't rape Eliza, she's an old friend-"

"I'm not _raping_ anyone!" Gil cries exasperatedly, throwing his hands into the air. "Quit spreading rumors, Lizzy. I wouldn't come near you with a ten foot pole!"

I snarl at that.

"Um, excuse me, but bruder can see Liza and Gilbert now," Lily calls.

"Oh, that's our cue, bruder! See you guys later!" Gil yells, jogging over to a slightly red Lily.

"Bye Feli! Bye Ludwig!" I call, starting off after them.

"Bye Liza! Ve, come see me after, okay?" Feli calls. "And don't worry," he adds in an undertone, "you aren't ugly, ve~"

"Danke, Feli. I'll see you soon!"

* * *

><p><strong>Gilbert POV<strong>

It's nice to get to see Lily again. I'm not saying I'm a pedophile. I'm not. I grew up with her and Vash. Vash, unfortunately, is my cousin. Let me stress the unfortunately. Lily was the little sister to everybody. Most kids would hate that. The eternal "little" sibling. Not Lily. She loved helping us all out. Sweetest thing ever. She's definitely on my very short list of awesome people.

Seeing Lily again is the one bright side to seeing Vash. Lily is definitely Vash's yin. Definitely.

So as I'm sitting here with Liz, trying desperately not to punch Vash's stupid face, I think of Lily and how that would break her heart. I don't break awesome hearts.

"He was in your house?"

"No Vash," I reply dryly, "we had an epic battle of the minds while he stood outside my kitchen window on the fire escape. Did I forget to mention his really majestic pink cape? What the hell man?"

"Don't talk to me like that!" Vash yells, pulling his stupid shot gun from who knows where. Probably up his giant ass.

"You've asked that question five freaking times!"

"I'm covering the basics, you complete moron!"

"Ja, the very bare minimum basics a over and _over_ again. An awesome _waste_ of our time."

"Okay," he breathes gritting his teeth, "so you killed this man who broke into your home?"

"No," I answer, the dryness leaking out of my very soul, "that burning guy in my house is Santa Claus. We let the other guy get away."

"Don't talk to me-"

"MEIN GOTT SHUT UP!"

We both turn nervously to see a very intimidating Hungarian boiling with anger.

"Er.. Liz," I start, trying to stop the tsunami.

"Okay you," she screeches, pointing a menacing finger at Vash, "have asked the same stupid questions on effing repeat. MORON. We were found. We dealt with the guy. I don't know who he was, but if you have any idea, spit it out! Or I'm going to take your stupid shotgun and that high horse your sitting on and stuff them up your giant ass." She sits down with a huff.

Sometimes I love Liz. Like when she makes Vash look like a dying fish.

"Fine," Vash mutters. "Maybe you're right. I don't like to hear it, but you're not this first to come and complain about problems outside.

"Recently, almost everyone we sent out to live and ease suspicion has come back with a spy on their hands. I've also had contact with the Western sect. They're getting it worse than us. The only ones not getting it? The Eastern sect. Why? They're not known for expanding beyond their borders so this worries me. They aren't in contact any more either. We've never had particularly great communication, but _everything_ has been shut off from Asia. For all we know, the police could have wiped them out." Vash taps his fingers against the mahogany of his desk. I lean in, I can't help it. Finally, this shit is getting exciting.

"So that means our jobs are about to get a hell of a lot more exciting than trafficking your guns and shit. Right?"

"There's _something _that we don't know. I want to know what it is. So, ja, Gilbert. Perhaps."

"You honestly think it's Yao?" Lizzie murmurs skeptically. "That doesn't add up. Asia stays to Asia. It always has. Why are they breaking their circle to allow in foreigners?"

"I said nothing about foreigners...," Vash points out.

"But that makes sense, doesn't it? Maybe he's been threatened by someone...? Or been offered something..."

"I can't see Yao compromising what his family has built up for almost a century. Can you?" I ask, surprising both Vash and Lizzie. "What? I'm smart! Awesome people are smart."

"Nem..," Lizzie says, ignoring my comment, "I guess not."

Vash sighs tiredly. "Until we know more, I have a job tomorrow night. It came up recently, and it's almost a good thing you two are back in action."

I smirk. Lizzie just nods.

"Some ass holes bought some shit off us. They aren't paying up. Make them."

"What if they don't?" Liz grins.

"Kill their stoner asses, and we'll get the money one way or another."

"Extortion," I leer. "Fun shit."

* * *

><p><strong>::AN:: **

**Okay, if this was poorly edited that's because my friend, greenpaperclip, didn't have a chance to edit this one. Gomen nasai.**

**AW sad Kiku/Mei. Don't worry, that's not the end of that! They will appear more. Were they too cheesy?**

**Romance building a little? Who knows~ Well me. Lets just say only one or two chapters left before I'm going to change it to M. For smut~**

**Translations:**

**Katana (Japanese) = traditional sword  
><strong>**Sakura (Japanese) = cherry/cherry blossom  
><strong>**Yukata (Japanese) = casual kimono, worn in summer or to bed.  
><strong>**Hai (Japanese) = yes  
><strong>**พี่ชาย ****(Thai) = older brother (I believe it's pronounced pee chai)  
><strong>**Nii-san (Japanese) = older brother  
><strong>**Gomen nasai (Japanese) = I am terribly sorry  
><strong>**Wa (Japanese) = peace, the harmony  
><strong>**Gomen (Japanese) = sorry  
><strong>**Kudasai (Japanese) = please  
><strong>**Aishiteru (Japanese) = I love you  
><strong>**Irozuku (Japanese) = bright  
><strong>**Domo arigatou gozaimashita (Japanese) = thank you very much  
><strong>**Doitashimashite (Japanese) = you're welcome  
><strong>**Danke (German) = thank you  
><strong>**Bruder (German) = brother**

**Finally: REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! I see you people who just story alert! Please review?**


	4. Go Ahead, Laugh In the Face Danger

**::A/N:: I don't own Hetalia, all right!**

**Finally got this up XP expect better next chappy~ P.S. I changed the chapter to mean what's it's supposed to XD so same story, different title~ don't be confused please~**

**Lovino = Romano/S. Italy  
><strong>**Antonio = Spain  
><strong>**Francis = France  
><strong>**Victoire = Seychelles  
><strong>**Feliks = Poland  
><strong>**Toris = Lithuania**

* * *

><p><em>In a vision, or in none,<br>Is it therefore the less gone?_

* * *

><p>Lovino POV<p>

I grumpily lean against the wall waiting for that stupid bastard to show up. What the fuck's his problem making me wait this long? I mean, it's not like I've been anxiously standing around here for ten minutes, cricking my neck looking down the hallway for a glimpse of the curly brown mop. Nope. I don't care one little bit apart from all this time wasting. I mean, _he _was the one who wanted to see _me_. I definitely do not _want _to see his idiotic smiling face at this ungodly hour. _Er.. wait. What time is it? _I lift my fancy ass Armani watch to my golden eyes. EXACTLY! I definitely don't need him bothering me at 6 fucking PM. Humph. Stupid tomato bastard. I pull my watch back into my vision, and determinedly watch the second hand tick away the time. The least I can do is guilt his Spanish ass.

"Lovi! You're here!" comes the cheery voice.

"Of course I'm fucking here! I don't go back on promises, bastard! Who the hell are you suggesting I am?"

I hear him laugh, and I remember the way it feels when it rumbles through both of our chests. My face burns crimson. "Ah, Lovi, what's wrong? You're all red."

"Nothing, moron. Except, you're fucking 43 seconds late."

"I am?"

I finally tear my eyes away from the inanimate face on my wrist to the very real, and very concerned, one leaning over me. Moron. "Yes."

"I'm sorry," Antonio says sincerely, looking desperately sad. His beautiful green eyes look like they're trying to literally pull forgiveness out of my soul. Moron.

"Over something so stupid? Are you always such a moron?"

The smile lights up his face again at my softer tone, wiping the guilt clean from my mind. "Mi querida!"

"Do you just randomly shout that shit?" I holler, flaring back up. He has a way about pushing my buttons. All my buttons. Good and bad. Mostly bad.

"Mi tomate!"

"Shut up, bastard, now you're just making fun of me," I sigh, brushing hair from my amber eyes.

"Lovi, but you're just so cute, mi querida!"

I turn my back to the stupid bastard and proceed to bash my head of the wall. Why. Is. He. Such. A. MORON?

"Er, Lovi! That's not very safe..."

"I know that." I peel my face off the plaster.

"Ah... okay... Do you want to go meet up with everyone? Liza and Gil are back!"

I face him again and see his shining expression at the mention of his friend. One of his two best friends. Not including me. Not that it matters! "You three going to party tonight?" I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I'm not some stupid, clingy chick. And that wasn't a reference to Gilbird.

"As much as we can in this place. You can come too!"

"Uh, yeah, no thanks. Spend the night with you, the pervert, and the even louder pervert? No."

Antonio pouts. "I know you don't like my friends-"

"I hate them."

"-but it will be fun! Plus you lumped me in with the people you don't want to spend time with... Do you hate me, too?"

"Ah, jeez. Don't make me get all mushy."

"All what?"

"You're a moron."

"..."

"Ugh. I like _you_. I _hate _them. Got it?"

"Sí!"

"Good," I sigh, rolling my eyes. Antonio beams like a complete moron while I fidget awkwardly.

"You're so cute-"

"Shut up."

"But you're so cu-"

"Shut up."

"But Loooovvvviiiii! You're so-"

I grab his stupid tanned cheeks between both my hands and press our faces together. He tugs a little at my bottom lip. I let him in, and his tongue invades my mouth. My hands are tangled in his chocolate brown locks, my anchor to earth while _his_ hands wrap around my hips. I feel them slip below my waist and start feeling up my ass. I bonk our heads together to get him to stop. He breaks away panting.

"Shut up. AND DON'T GROPE MY ASS IN PUBLIC."

"Why? It's fun."

I feel my cheeks explode.

"Aw.. you're so cute."

I spend the next minute bashing my head off his chest.

* * *

><p>Elizveta POV<p>

Leaving Vash's office, I can't help but feel a little excited. Gil and I are back in business. Having somebody break into Gil's apartment kind of sucked..., but the feeling of adrenaline before a chase; that will be worth it.

"You ready for tomorrow?"

I break out of my thoughts to find Gil staring at the wall in front of us. Did he just ask me something? Eh, probably not. I ignore it.

Instead, my mind drifts to Feli, who will be waiting for me down in the "All Purpose Room". It's racier name is the break-shit-then-eat-then-drink-shit-then-break-more-shit room, dubbed as much by the Bad Touch Trio, but Vash threatens to shoot our asses whenever we use that term. I wonder who else will be there tonight. Vash spoke of failures all across the board... maybe that means there are more people here than not... So I might get to see-

My reverie is shattered again when I crash right in to somebody coming from the other direction. I get a face full of bulky cloth before I'm falling backwards. I catch myself before hitting the floor. The other guy just watches me unhelpfully.

"Kesese-"

I punch Gil in the arm, and his obnoxious laugh is cut off.

When I look away from Gil, the stranger's tall: probably a he, and clothed in a ridiculously large red and blue sweatshirt. The only visible feature on him are his piercing blue eyes, fringed by wheat-blond strands of hair. I stare into the orbs for a moment before a polite little cough breaks the silence.

My gaze moves behind the stranger to meet the jade eyes of another man, completely juxtaposing the first. This one's all punked out. He's wearing dark wash skinny jeans, a tight, bright, white tee shirt with the Union Jack, and piercings in both ears. Basically, not the kind of person you expect a little "ahem" from. I thought he would be more like... I don't know... a butler, or something.

When his critical stare becomes annoying, I finally notice a third man. His figure is hidden in a heavy, fur-lined, jacket. I imagine there are several guns in there. He avoids meeting my eyes directly, but he sends a shy smile towards me nonetheless.

"Kesesese. Who the hell are you punks?" Gil demands, apparently recovered from the pain of his arm and the humiliation that came with it.

"People you don't want to swear at, git. We have a meeting with Vash Zwingli," the butler says, in a perfect English accent. I can't help wanting to dress him up in a little butler costume... or maybe a waiter costume... a racy waiter costume. He's cute enough for it. It's easy to see his definition, as he's not leaving much to the imagination in those ratty clothes.

"Well good luck with him. I think he has a bigger stick up his ass than you do," Gil says "helpfully".

The one hiding in the sweatshirt snickers.

"Shut up, bloody wanker!" Butler snaps.

"Ah.. guys...," the third whispers, nervously, pulling at his jacket. "Maybe we-"

The butler cuts him off with a curt, "We need to go. Goodbye."

With that they continue down the hallway.

"I wonder who the heck they were," I laugh.

"Talking now are we?"

"What?"

"You were ignoring me."

"Ah, I thought I heard your dulcet tones interrupting my thoughts, but I decided to ignore them as they're usually the bane of my existence" I snap, rolling my eyes as we continue to the "All Purpose Room".

"Bitch."

"Dickwad."

"Ass wipe."

"Albino freak."

"She-man."

I wrench my frying pan from inside my duffel and crush his stupid head with it.

...**.**

"Liza!"

"Feli!" I squeal, ditching Gil and flying over to the Italian. Beside him is Lovino, looking particularly grumpy in a button down shirt, open to reveal a bit of chest. "Szia Lovi!"

"Umph."

"How are you two?" I ask, taking one of the two open seats at their table. The "All Purpose Room" is kind of like an Underground club, V.I.P access only. It's got a bar: food and drinks. Tables all around. Obnoxiously loud music blaring in your ears. That kind of thing.

"Good, ve~ ... Fratello's grumpy, though," Feliciano adds as an after thought.

"Shut up! I'm not grumpy, as you so intuitively call it," Lovi snarks, twirling his finger around the rim of his beer bottle.

"What's got you all tied up this time?" I query, sincerely.

"Nothing! Where's the loud, white bastard?"

"Oh, Gil? Um," I stall, glancing around for the 'bastard' in question. I see him in the midst of trying to get Francis' hand out of his pants, Toni laughing beside them. "Over with the BTT."

"God, who name's themselves 'the Bad Touch Trio'? It's shitty and pretentious."

I raise an eyebrow at Feli. Lovi's eyes are still glued to the beer in front of him, so he doesn't explode again at my look.

"Fratello's mad that Toni's not spending time with him," Feli offers as explanation.

"I AM NOT, DAMN IT!" Lovino yells, jumping to his feet. Without a backward glance at Tonio he stalks out of the room.

"See?" Feli says happily, taking a sip of his red wine.

"Igen. So him and Toni are still together, then?"

"Of course, ve," Feli nods, staring at me with honest eyes. "Big brother Antonio loves fratello, and fratello loves him a lot too. They make each other very happy."

"As happy as Lovi can get," I sigh, a nostalgic smile on my face.

"True!" Feli laughs. His eyes trail away from mine and focus on something behind me."Ve! Ludwig!"

I turn to see the German making his way towards us, is usual disgruntled expression in place. "Can we go somewhere more quiet, Feliciano? I'm getting a headache."

"Ve? Sure, Ludwig. Is that okay, Liza?" Feli asks, turning to me.

"Huh? Eliza? Oh, sorry for interrupting," Ludwig grimaces.

"Nem, it's no problem," I assure them. "Have fun!"

Ludwig turns bright red when Feli skips away, beaming. I laugh softly to myself. Then I realize I'm all alone. I glance around hastily to try and track down another friend. My eyes land on some girl flirting with Gil and I quickly look the other way. He's flirting back of course. Ass hole. He ought to focus more on-

"Salut, Liza!"

I recognize that voice! "Victoire! It's so good to see you!" I squeal, looking up to meet chocolate brown eyes.

"How have you been?" the dark-skinned girl smiles, thumping into Lovino's empty seat and nearly splashing her margarita all over the table. "Oops," she winces, dabbing with a napkin.

"Good, danke! How are you holding up with Francis? You two are still partners, igen?" The drink starts dripping off the table. I slide my chair farther to the left. The view of Gil and the flirter becomes much more visible. And so has that bitch's chest, I swear to Isten. She undid at least four buttons when I wasn't looking. I drag my attention back to Victoire.

"Oui," she sighs, her French threaded into her English. She leans against the chair nonchalantly, one leg crossing over the other. "No one else will put up with him. Despite what everyone believes, I do think he's er.. a little less.. hands on with me. Which is nice."

"Better than him all over you. Maybe he's got a soft spot for a certain lady," I grin, nudging her and trying to keep my gaze from slipping to _that_ corner of the room.

"Oui, as a _father _figure, Liza," Victoire snickers. She follows my gaze to the white Prussian. "What about you and Gil?"

"Uh, what?" I ask, nonplussed, determinedly taking a swig of beer.

"You. And. Gilbert. Beilschmidt."

"Er... we're still partners, if that's what you mean..."

Victoire smacks her hand against her forehead. "Non, Liza. Don't be foolish! As _more_ than partners. Like romantically! What's up with that?" Her gaze is so expectant, I want to laugh. What does she think we're doing, fucking every night?

"Me and _him? _You've got to be kidding."

"Non! You two would be cute together!"

"You're nuts. How many drinks have you had tonight?"

"Only two! Non! I'm serious, mon amie! He is sexy! He is smart! You keep looking at him! Why not?"

"He's Gilbert," I reply flatly, intent upon not letting my gaze slip again to that corner of the bar, where three handsome men drink the rest of the world away.

...

The night breeze gently tugs against my skin, pulling up tiny mountains and eliciting earth quakes from their soil. December is knocking on Prague's door, and I feel it steadily, quivering on the roof top of the behemoth. However, it truly does offer a beautiful view of the city. Sprawling buildings boldly advertise themselves to passersby with bright promises of splendor, even in these late hours of the night, and, little farther into the horizon, where the sun has just disappeared, smaller houses squat prettily, twinkling away from the city.

I imagine them to be filled with families; happy families eating dinner together like they have every night of their lives. Maybe the son throws a fit because he doesn't want to eat his greens, but that's okay because it doesn't matter at the end of the night. His father won't hit him for being insubordinate, his mother won't scream that his ungratefulness is causing the family ruin. It'll be okay.

Maybe the older child is angry that she had to cancel plans with her boyfriend, but it's okay because she will get to see him the next day. She won't drag herself through his door like it's the last place on earth she has to go to. She won't try and fail at hiding the hand-shaped bruise on her arm. In fact, her boyfriend will be invited to dinner at her house, as a peace offering from her parents. Everything will be fine.

These thoughts run through my head, but the tears don't come anymore. The little girl who had to carry herself; that isn't me. No longer. She's long gone, still being hit by people that don't love her. Me, I'm in control now. My life isn't a waste of space because it affects no one. I can't leave any one less than they expect.

Perhaps that's why Victoire's interrogation bothered me so much. I left in rather an abrupt manner, leaving Victoire staring worriedly at my retreating back. She realized too late that I wasn't interested in having that conversation. To peel the first layer from the onion, Gil's just my friend. Only my friend. The basic synopsis of the rest is: I let people in, and they're just disappointed. Point taken with Roderich. So far Gil's never once been disappointed with _me_. I want it to stay that way.

A car horn blares loudly, frightening me back to reality. I grip the railing that runs along the edge of the roof in minor frustration that it antagonized me at all. _Relax, Liza. Don't be jumpy._

"Relax, Liz."

This time I spin around and start to pull my gun, but a hand stops me. I reluctantly look into the basil-green eyes of Feliks Łukasiewicz. "Feliks! Gott, you scared me!"

"Sorry, Liza. I totally didn't mean to," he smirks, leaning against the railing with me. His rim rod straight flaxen hair is lifted lazily by the frigid air as his eyes travel over the landscape. "Thinking?"

"Igen," I murmur, rubbing warmth back into my arms.

"You do it too much, Liza. You'll get, like, frown lines," he says, waving his fingers in front of my forehead.

"Oh please, that's the least of my worries."

"Even when you can't get a certain man off your mind?"

I freeze, internally condemning myself for forgetting Feliks' adept perception of inner thoughts. He can do it to anyone. Read them in a moment. As far as I know, only one person has ever alluded Feliks in that area. Toris Lorinaitis. Speaking of the devil.

"Where's your certain man, Feliks?" I expect a quick, giggly reply about him being downstairs or something. Instead I meet silence. Something foreign to the Polish man. Usually. "Feliks?"

"Oh, you know," he says evasively.

"Feliks," I whisper, "where's Toris?"

Feliks turns to look at me with tears running down his cheeks. "It seems that you haven't heard the news yet. It's just fabulous," he snarls, bending his neck in defeat. "No one's seen Toris for a week. Vash sent him out on, like, some sort of extortion job. An hour endeavor at most. It was, like, two blocks away. I was waiting for him to come back to his room. We had plans that night. The job was unexpected and very sudden. He was just prying money off some sucker who hadn't paid for the merchandise he bought, but Toris never came back."

I listen silently, nodding after each pause, trying not to detail the sadness, but slowly, a picture starts to form. Feliks, lying in bed, anticipating a night worth remembering. Watching the clock, happily counting down until the expected time. Watching that time come and go while trying to quell the wave of sadness threatening to crush him. Now, trying desperately not to drown in it. "Do you know who it was that wasn't paying? You can't track Toris down?" I finally murmur, my brain latching onto cold facts.

"Nein," Feliks sighs, slipping into German. "I don't. Some Russian or something. Nothing worth taking note of, nothing different, than, like, what we normally do- ah, did. It's too late at this point."

"Toris would never leave you, Feliks," I say with conviction, turning to meet his eyes.

The stare I receive is lifeless. "He already did."

* * *

><p><strong>::AN::**

**Sorry it took me such a blasted long time to update! I was away. And I only have this crappy chapter to give to you! I'm sooo sorry. But I want to write the extortion mission next chappy cause it's big. Rest assured, I do have a plan to all this, and I promise some serious action! I'm already started on chapter 5!**

**Translations:**

**Mi querida (Spanish) = my dear  
><strong>**Mi tomate (Spanish) = my tomato  
><strong>**Sí (Spanish) = yes  
><strong>**Wanker (British) = ? XD XD Love ya Iggy~  
><strong>**Szia (Hungarian) = hello  
><strong>**Fratello (Italian) = brother  
><strong>**Salut (French) = hey/hello  
><strong>**Oui (French) = yes  
><strong>**Non (French) = no  
><strong>**Mon amie (French) = my friend  
>Isten (Hungarian) = God<strong>

**Please review everybody~**


	5. Can You See the Blurry Edges?

**::A/N:: Don't own Hetalia.**

**IMPORTANT! I said they were in Prague last chapter, I meant Berne. Sorry for the idiocy -wince-**

_**ALSO IMPORTANT! I will take POV requests! Boy or girl, it doesn't matter! SO REQUEST AWAY~**_

**Well everybody, this isn't actually chapter 5. I mean, it is, but not like I planned it. Writing 'Chapter 5' I realized that the action was fast approaching and inserting random character building scenes wasn't going to smoothly carry the angst and suspense I want all you readers to have.**

**SO WELCOME TO FILLER CHAPTER: CHARACTER ADVANCEMENT.**

**A few relationships will bud, a few questions will be answered (hopefully), and a few characters better introduced. Oh and don't forget setting you all up for the mega plot-twisters to come -insert evil face here-**

**So thank you for putting up with my monologue, enjoy~**

**Arthur = England  
><strong>**Peter = Sealand  
><strong>**Alice = Belgium  
><strong>**Alfred = U.S.A.  
><strong>**Matthew = Canada**

* * *

><p><strong>Victoire POV<strong>

There are two things I like very much. Obviously, I'm not so shallow as to only like deux things~ Non, non, non, but with a glimpse into the near future, I'm appreciating these things more and more: being prepared in order to be reliable. Right now, only one obvious course of action will uphold this thesis: coffee.

So that's the reason I'm standing, soaking wet, with a steaming mug in hand. Or, that's part of the reason. In my misfortune, there was no coffee in the pantry. I had some time before meeting up with Francis in the hangar, so I thought, "Oh, I know, I'll dash out to get some coffee!" It promptly started raining as I was halfway to the market, and it failed to stop until I was literally opening the back door to the bank. Mon dieu.

That is the reason I'm soaked to the bone, shivering, and sipping horrible cheap black coffee. With a sigh, I put the drink back on the counter and start to strip off my dripping tee-shirt. Why did I go out in a tee-shirt in the middle of Novembre? Pourquoi? I mull over my state of mind as I wring it out onto the hardwood floor, watching it pull taut. Similar to the recesses of my heart.

Everyone is tense right now. The extortion mission is taking place within the hour and the shadow of Toris is looming. I know it nags on more minds than just mine and Feliks'. It must! And this mission is eerily similar to the other. At least multiple people are being sent out this time. Gil, Toni, Lovi, Liza. But that in of itself makes my heart flutter with anxiety. When have we needed more than one hitman to deal with scumbags that buy what they cannot afford? I bite my lip.

Wringing the last drop of water out of my faded pastel shirt, I'm thankful for the fact that everybody is currently occupied in the hangar.

"Ah..."

I am mistaken, apparently. A faux pas on my part. I whip around. A lone figure stands in the doorway, rippling shadows cast upon him by the rivulets of rain once again running down the windows. A shaggy mop of hair hangs over his thin face. His body is clothed in a thick military style jacket, but I can still see the tautness of the muscle underneath.

That's when I remember my lack of clothing.

"EEE!" I screech and start rapidly cursing him in French while pulling my shirt back over my head.

"My apologies," he wails in a British accent, immediately turning away. I let him remain like that, frantic and helpless, as I close the distance between us and whack him upside the head.

"Bloody-" he curses, gripping his skull. "What the bloody hell was that sodding for?" He meets my eyes, green against brown, and I rise to the challenge.

"You, Monsieur, are a PERVERT."

"_Me_? Aren't you partners with that bloody frog?" he asks, incredulously, staring me down, all embarrassment and chivalry forgotten.

"_Francis_? Did you just call him a frog?"

"I certainly did!"

"Take it back!"

"No!"

"OUI, MONSIEUR, TAKE IT BACK!"

"Why ought I?"

"Because he is my friend!"

"He's a sodding rapist!"

"TAKE THAT BACK!"

"NO!"

"How dare you!"

"How dare _you_!"

"How dare I? Pardon, Monsieur-"

"Stop calling me French names! I can't stand that language."

"Well what should I call you? An insensitive _git_?" I purposely mangle his accent.

I get the reaction I desire. "No, wench!"

"WENCH? What are you, a pirate? Do not call me such British names, Monsieur, I despise that place!"

"HOW CAN YOU DESPISE ENGLAND?"

"England? I've never heard of it," I pipe innocently.

"Never. Bloody. Heard. Of. England?" he roars. "The UK?"

"You mean Scotland, Ireland, and Wales?" I ask peachily, taking another sip of coffee.

"NO! I mean yes! YOU BLOODY INSUFFERABLE GIT!"

"Please, Monsieur, refrain-"

"-FROM CALLING ME BLOODY FRENCH NAMES! My name is Arthur Kirkland," he spits through gritted teeth.

I hold out a slim hand for him to shake. "Victoire Dubois. Enchanté, Monsieur Arthur~"

And with that, I leave him alone to make what I'm sure will be a disgusting cup of tea.

* * *

><p><strong>Lily POV<strong>

I can tell Bruder is really angry, but the mission is still on time. I double checked with Antonio just for Bruder's peace of mind, but it did nothing to alleviate the frantic finger-tapping. His financial papers are in order. I made sure to check them once again for mistakes. Nobody else had a failure to report. I searched for any messages that may have been over looked.

So why Bruder's agitated, I can only ponder. Which has been preoccupying me for the last half hour. I sit alone, at a table in the All Purpose Room, anxiously checking my phone for messages from Antonio, the others, or even Bruder. But nothing comes up. No flashing message-light allowing me to participate in this world Bruder's created. I lean back with a sigh, still clenching my phone.

Suddenly a hand slaps over my mouth.

"SSHHHH!"

I freeze, trying to place anything, to find facts to use against my attacker, something Bruder taught me. His voice sounds young, perhaps a bit English...

"Don't make a sound, k? I'm hiding from that Japanese guy, and if he catches me now, well, lets just say my dear brothers won't be too pleased. Why the fuck they think I need a freaking babysitter at sixteen..." he mutters, trailing off. He releases me, and I turn to meet brilliantly blue eyes. They're the color of the ocean. Eyebrows hang over them lazily, and a mop of sandy hair finishes it off.

"Ah..."

"Oh, I'm Peter, by the way!"

"N-nice to meet you, Peter."

Peter's lopsided grin transforms into a frown. "Shit, I hear Kiku! Come with me!" He grabs my hand and yanks me off my stool. We stumble behind the bar before the footsteps of a slight-sounding man enter the room.

"Peter-kun?"

Peter rolls his eyes at the nick name and mouths something that looks like "Go name, ram?" I think I may be wrong in my translation, or perhaps, Peter's a little slow...

"Peter-kun! Please come out!" Kiku yells, politely, something I can appreciate.

Finally his footsteps fade away.

Peter sighs. "Grr, that was close wasn't it... er... what should I call you? I'm cool with whatever. I had this one friend who wanted me to call him Stronghold."

"Really?" I ask, wondering what it would be like to be referred to as "Stronghold".

"Yup, dead serious, no joke."

"Well, I'm just Lily Zwingli."

"Lily Zwingli? Like all that, or just Lily?"

"Oh, ah, sorry, just Lily please," I say.

"Cool. Well, Stronghold always called me Super Peter..."

"Er..."

"But it can make things awkward. So yup, just Peter, then!"

"O-okay-"

"So can the name SpamDevil666," Peter plows on. "And that's not spam as in in that nasty British 'meat'-" Here he adds air quotes. "-but like spamming your inbox until it explodes."

"Oh... ah, you do that?"

"Only to my older brother, my friends, and my trolling buddies."

"W-what?"

"You know, trolling, like on the internet? What are magnets and all that shit? Guess not," he adds when he sees my completely lost expression. "Anyway, SpamDevil666 is my username online. Epic, right? Because it combines two things- Oh, sorry, you probably know all about online accounts."

"Nein, not really," I respond, kind of intrigued by this guy.

"Really? Huh. German?"

"Er.. j-ja."

"That's epic. I've got this Latvian friend from the internet named Raivis. The idiot actually used his real name, and he still couldn't figure out why he had this stalker from Russia after him. That's why we became friends, I helped him change his profile. He still picked something totally ridiculous though. It was like RussianStuttererSOS or something. I haven't heard from him in a while, actually."

Peter stops talking for a moment, looking a little lost.

"Really?" I push.

"Huh, oh yeah. Neat right?"

"Ja! Where are you from, Peter?"

"Get this, it's the best thing about me by far. I'm from Sealand!" he shouts proudly, jumping into the air dramatically and almost shattering three bottles of brandy in the process.

''PETER-KUN?"

"Fuck," Peter curses under his breath. "Well, see you around, Lily."

"Wait!" I whisper, tugging on Peter's shirt sleeve. "Sealand is that micro-nation and abandoned naval base out at sea, right?"

Peter regards me very seriously for a moment. "Lily, I think I may love you."

I watch bemused as he makes a break for it, hollering war cries all the way, a panicked Japanese man on his heels. Does Bruder know they're here?

Suddenly a buzzing in my pocket causes me to smack the crown of my head off the underside of the bar. Wincing, I quickly check my phone.

_From Unknown Number_

_HEYA LILY!_

_I'ts Peter. Yeah, sorry, I hacked into your phone! Er.. you don't mind right? I won't spam you or anything! Meet me later? You need to chill!_

_~SpamDevil666_

I feel the smallest of smiles cross my face at the message, to which I reply:

_Ja, I'll meet you! Where? ^.^ maybe I can make some sort of account online!_

_~Lily~_

* * *

><p><strong>Elizaveta POV<strong>

I repeatedly slam gun after gun onto my bed cover, taking little heed of the possibility of one of them going off and sending me to the hospital in a freak accident for months. Right now, I'm as annoyed as hell, and I don't know why. It's just unfair! What exactly it is that's unfair, well I'm fairly certain I'll figure it out eventually, but until then, well, everything can just fuck itself!

I slump down amidst my arsenal, sighing. Well, not everything I suppose. I don't want Feli to do that, it would traumatize him for life. And Ludwig really is my good friend. Same with Victoire, I may be a little peeved, but I don't want anything bad to happen to her! And Lily neither, nor Vash. I don't want anything happening to Francis, Tonio, Lovi, Feliks, Toris, or even those annoying new foreign guys. So I guess, that just leaves-

"OHHH, LIZZIE!"

Gilbert Fucking Beilschmidt.

"What, Gil?" I snap, turning to see him leaning against the door frame. Without a shirt on. "Can you please put some clothes on?" I shriek, turning away from his definition, red in the face.

"But Franny's putting a mic system through my jacket and shirt."

"Pervert," I mutter. "Well, he'd better not make me do that for him."

"He probably will, kesesese!"

"Oh excellent," I gripe, resuming my onslaught of the guns. "So you can make out with Alice while I get raped!" If there is an accident tonight, hopefully the bullet will hit Gilbert. In the face.

"Alice?"

I don't turn to look at him when I reply. "Igen, Alice, idióta."

"Er... who's she again? And why are we talking about her?"

"The girl you almost had in your pants last night."

Gil makes a sound akin to a choking cat. I turn around to make sure I haven't shot him. Nem, sadly he's still standing there, albeit looking embarrassed.

I give him a few moments to vocalize any kind of thought process. Nothing comes out. Turning away, I select a few guns at random from the bed and place them at advantage points on my person. I need to clear my mind. I breathe in gently, then out gently, then in, then out, quickly finding a soothing rhythm.

"See you in the hangar?" Gilbert finally asks. I know he's trying to salvage this, however badly, but I just... I just can't right now.

So I remain silent, finally armed head to toe with everything I'll need. As I stride from the room, directly past Gil, I wonder sadly, why we're fighting. We never really fight. But when I switch off the light in Gil's face and start down the hallway, he says nothing. I hear the soft thump of him shutting my door, before I disappear completely from his crimson gaze.

...

"Liza, ma chére! I was wondering when you were planning on joining us, ohonhon~ Où est Gilbo?" the Frenchman asks, gliding towards me from across the room.

"Sorry, Francis, I don't know," I say, gracefully dodging his groping appendages and succeeding in skirting to the other side of the room, where Lovino is sulking against a mountain of gasoline containers, shaded by the darkness.

The hangar is underground and to strengthen the connotation, there are no windows, just frail, ghastly ceiling lights, clinging for dear life as every movement from the world above sends them swinging into a frenzy. At the far end of the hangar, however, the floor slopes upwards and leads to a large rectangular door that ascends into the ceiling. Gilbert likes to refer to it as a "man-cave". Not the door, the hangar itself. He claims it has almost everything a man-cave should have, minus the minority population of girls. Even as a girl, however, I can appreciate the adrenaline rush that is the rows and rows of auto-vehicles shined to perfection.

"Eliza."

"Igen, Ludwig?" I turn around with a start, to see the German watching me from his position next to Feli.

He leaves the younger Italian's side, gently parting with a touch to the others arm. He comes near me, grim faced. "Eliza."

"I-igen?"

"Tonight, I must ask you to protect mein Bruder."

"He's fine on his own."

"Nein, he is not."

"Igen, he is. Have you seen him-?"

"Eliza, he is hurting, and I know it will affect him tonight. He will make stupid decisions on the pretense that a risk will save somebody."

"He's always like that," I grumble, wondering why Ludwig is being so protective.

"All I ask you, Eliza, is to not let yourself come to harm."

"Of course not! I'm not-"

"Because he will try to save you. And then the idiot will die."

I stare at Ludwig, wide eyed. "Wait! What's with the proclamations of death? You know he's better than that-"

"I know it. You know it. He doesn't care. He will make mistakes."

"L-Ludwig, I don't-"

"Just promise me, Eliza."

I scan his wide-set blue orbs, and just as usual, there is every ounce of seriousness in them. Perhaps, a bit of fatigue, buried beneath order and method. "Of course, Ludwig. I won't allow him harm, no matter how often he throws himself at its feet."

"Danke, Elizaveta. I will hold you to that."

"I won't let you down, Ludz."

He allows the corner of his mouth to upturn softly, before he leaves me alone, halfway between Lovino and the door. I contemplate just turning around and following Ludwig, but the sight of a solemn figure leaning carelessly on the edge of the bottom stair causes me to halt.

"Ohonhon! Gilbo, you are gracing us with your 'awesome'? And on time, no less? Mon dieu, amie, has the sky fallen?"

"Ja, something like that," he drawls. "Can I have my shirt, Franny?"

"This? But I am enjoying-"

"Give me the shirt," Gil intones, waving a pale hand for the cloth.

"You wound my heart, Gilbo~"

"Ja, ja, I'm sure you already have a lady lined up for tonight to ease all that pain."

"Oh, so true! I think I may love this one, Gilbo! L'amour-"

"Uh-huh," Victoire snorts, rounding the corner, and nearly ramming Gil into the floor.

"Watch it!"

"Oh, salut Gil! Where's Liza?"

"Don't know, sorry," Gilbert snaps, shoving his pale head through the neck of the shirt.

Victoire winces. "Er, never mind, then!"

Francis manages to catch wind of the awkward situation and cuts in smoothly, "Where 'ave you been, ma cherie?"

Victoire grins at him. "Oh, just getting some coffee!"

"You are all wet!"

"Oui, il pleut! My hair is ruined, isn't it?"

"Non, non, you are tres jolie~!"

"Ah, merci, Francis."

"De rien!"

"Ahem."

The two turn around, and I crane my neck to see over Ludwig.

"Oh, it is you," Victoire mutters in disgust, turning her back on the new comer, who I recognize as the English butler.

"Yes, it is me, you bloody-"

"Excusez moi, Monsieur. Do not refer to Victoire that way."

"And what are you supposed to be? Her father?"

"Oui, je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy. Et toi?"

The Englishman rubs his temples tiredly. "I don't know any sodding French, please stop-"

"AW, Artie!" Another man appears from nowhere, and slings an arm around his brother. His eyes sparkle an electric blue. "His name is Francis, dude! He wants to know what your name is."

"I know what his bloody name-," Arthur starts in, lividly.

But Alfred cuts him off and turns to Francis with a 500 megawatt smile. "His name is Arthur Kirkland, and I'm Alfred Jones!"

"Enchanté, mon chere~ I already know who dear Arthur is."

"Yup, same here," Alfred beams, completely oblivious to the beginnings of a predatory smirk on Francis' pale face. "Wait you know Artie?

"Oui, oui," Francis smiles, waving the mention of Arthur into thin air. "Vous parlez français?"

"Un peu," Alfred replies, still painfully unaware of the slowly advancing Francis. "I spent a few months on it in university, you know." He idly puts it as a minor accomplishment.

"Tres bien, ma chere," Francis purrs, perhaps a mere few inches replaced from Alfred and Arthur.

"Uh, personal space, frog? Ever heard of it?" snaps Arthur, backing away and dragging a confused Alfred with him. "Don't rape my brother you insufferable git!"

"Rape? Arthur what are you talking about? Matt? What's he talking about? Why am I being raped?"

"Ah, well, Al," another man starts in. For the first time, I notice him hovering a little behind Arthur. This is the brother who was clothed so heavily the night before. I realize with a start, that Alfred must have been the man who knocked me over in the hall, transfixing eyes and all. For once, I can see how these people are related. Alfred and Matt are twins, despite Alfred's aura that radiates him being a bigger man. Not in the sense that he shovels food, but rather, his personality is huge and his muscles won't deny this. Matt has a quieter sense about him. He seems wiser, not that Alfred seems stupid, he's just a little... childish. He also looks like he needs to wear a raccoon hat, a flannel shirt, cart around an ax in a sled pulled by huskies. "He's not really raping you yet..."

"But... Art! Leggo!"

"Git," Arthur mutters. "Look," he sighs, turning his attention to Ludwig, the only man seemingly on top of the plan. I don't blame him for assuming that. "Zwingli sent us to accompany you tonight."

"Did he?" Ludwig exhales. With a curt nod, he turns to Francis and Victoire. "Ready?"

"Oui," Victoire answers, slipping ear phones into their cavities. With the other hand, she wrenches Francis away from Alfred.

Ludwig turns to the rest of us. "Gil, you have lead."

"Ja."

"Eliza you will survey."

"Igen."

"Tonio, Lovino, make sure you flank Eliza."

"Mhm," Tonio hums in response, flicking at Lovi.

"Obviously," the Italian snorts, whacking Tonio's hands away.

"Arthur, you and your men can take your own initiative, I assume."

"Of course," Arthur nods.

"Excellent. Geh."

* * *

><p><strong>::AN:: And that marks the end of this filler chapter. Hmm, good, bad? I've been really worried about my writing of late, so several professions of utmost love wouldn't go awry... Ah well~ Just review then?**

**Remember: I will take POV suggestions, so please put them forth ^.^**

**Translations:**

**Deux (French) = two  
><strong>**Mon dieu (French) = my God  
><strong>**Pourquoi? (French) = why?  
><strong>**Novembre (French) = November  
><strong>**Faux pas (French) = false step/mistake  
><strong>**Monsieur (French) = Mr.  
><strong>**Enchanté (French) = enchanted [to meet you]  
><strong>**Idióta (Hungarian) = idiot  
><strong>**Où est? (French) = where is?  
><strong>**Oui, il pleut (French) = yes, it's raining  
><strong>**Tres jolie (French) = very pretty  
><strong>**De rien (French) = it's of nothing, you're welcome  
><strong>**Excusez moi (French) = excuse me  
><strong>**Oui, je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy. Et toi (French) = Yes, my name is Francis Bonnefoy. And you?  
><strong>**Vous parlez français (French) = you speak French?  
><strong>**Un peu (French) = a bit  
><strong>**Tres bien (French) = very good  
><strong>**Geh (German) = go**


	6. Better Than You

**::A/N:: Yadda yadda, I don't own the AWESOMENESS that is Hetalia.**

**But look at this! I updated rather quickly this time around! I'm not sure what you'll think... but enjoy!**

**Xi = Hong Kong  
><strong>**Im Yong = Korea**

* * *

><p><strong>Gilbert POV<strong>

Somewhere to my left, Lovino revs his engine into the cloud-laden night air, and Tonio speeds up beside him, flashing him that signature smile. I swivel to glance behind me instead, not so hot with the idea of seeing gay flirting. No offense to my bro. Just, too much information, ya know? I'll let Liz be obsessed with that stuff.

Three more cycles drone behind us. In the seats sit the men from earlier, the foreigners.

I could only assume when they sauntered up to Liz, Tonio, Lovi and myself that Vash had sent them there. Awesomely enough, it turned out to be true. Liz thought that perhaps they were the "friends" Vash had discussed when we were in his office. I just scoffed at her because that's my job, but she was probably right. The she-man usually is (keep that a secret). The mens' names constantly escape my awesomeness, however. It's like Arnold, Aaron, and something else. Matt-something or other. Whatever. All I know is they're brothers, but one's Canadian, one's American, and one's English. And they have a little short one that tags along and claims to be from "Sealand" (well he's not _that_ short, he's a teenager). It's hilarious. Especially because he told me (in his _English _accent) that Sealand's basically just a lump of metal in the middle of the ocean (off of England of course. That's where the accent comes from, stupid). Then he got pissed when I phrased it as such and kicked me in the shin. Only because I made sure he missed my sensitive areas. Little dick. He still gets added to my List of Awesome, though.

He's not on this mission. I'm not sure why his brothers are either, but whatever. They left some Japanese guy back at base with the kid, Peter, I think it was. See, if you're awesome, I'll remember your name! Well, let me re-phrase that. I only remember Vash's name because I have to. And Liz's old boyfriend's name because she **never** shut up about him. He was the world's biggest arschloch. So I definitely didn't remember him because of his "awesome". I only remembered him because of Liz. Not that she's _that_ awesome of anything! (Gott, stop judging).

The green tinted motorcycle to my right is Liz's. I can't see her angular face, nor her forest eyes, nor her long brown hair. She pulled it into a bun or something.

I think she's pissed at me.

She hasn't spoken to me since I showed up in her room half naked. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. ...Oh well... I realize I annoy the shit out of her (something I find awesome), but she doesn't hate me... I don't think...

"_Gilbo.. it's... a... miles... ready..._" The voice belongs to Francis, but the words don't make an ounce of sense. For one thing he didn't say the word "l'amour"... Just kidding. Nein, it's the static making it nearly impossible to hear anything. Probably because of the freaking rain.

Wiping the water from my visor, I take a sharp left, and attempt to answer. "I can't hear a thing you're saying, Franny!"

"_How about now, mon chere?_"

"Better." One of the Western punks behind me swerves like a moron, cutting me off. He's fucking lucky I didn't crash! If I were a normal person, and not one with awesome driving abilities, I would be a pile of metal. I growl low in my throat. The arschloch has no clue where the fuck we're going, anyway!

"_Gilbo_?"

Maybe I said something out loud. "Nothing. Say that again, Franny."

"_The warehouse is in two miles, get ready. Take the left at the next intersection._"

"Ja, sounds good." I switch gears and slip past Liza in order to cut off the hot-shot. She moves slightly, giving me just enough room to maneuver by her, but not enough to let any other idiots pass us. I nod slightly in her direction. She ignores me.

I shake it off and rev past Toni and Lovino. Catching on to my plan, they both flank me appreciatively. When I get closer, I make him out. The arschloch is the American. Toni speeds to one side, Lovi to the other, while I flip him the bird and take the lead.

My head set crackles again. "Hey, man! The fuck?" His accent is painfully American.

"Sorry Arnold-"

"_Alfred_!"

"Ja, whatever, you're not the Terminator and you don't know where the fuck you're going, so kill the guns."

"_Did you just compare me with Arnold-"_

"Ja, but not really."

"_SWEET! DUDE, doesn't he kick-"_

I switch off my radio in exasperation. _Idiot_. Alfred falls behind, while Toni, Lovino, and Liz move parallel to my bike.

"_What did you mean by Terminator?"_

Never mind, Toni's a bigger idiot than _Alfred_. "Nothing Tonio."

"_I think Alfred's hilarious_," Liz laughs. It's nice to hear her talking to me again, but I think I _hate_ the words coming out of her mouth.

"_Fucking bastard is a complete idiot_." Lovino, who else?

"_We have to cooperate with him for the rest of this mission_," Liz reminds us.

"_Fan-fucking-tastic_," Lovi snarls, and I hear his connection die. A man of few, choice words, that Lovino.

"_Personally I can't wait to fight with him_," Liza announces, before switching her own connection dead.

"_Tough break, amigo_," Toni sighs.

"What the hell is that supposed-"

"_Never mind, you really are an idiot, Gilbo_."

Sometimes I wonder if we're actually just a page behind Toni. Maybe that's the answer to why he never makes sense.

"Er.. Toni-"

My ears crackle with static. "_Bruder!"_

"LUDZ!" I cry.

_"...Ow."_

"Oh, sorry, Bruder, I forget I can't yell at you in these things~"

"_Dummkopf_."

"Heh... heh..."

"_Anyway, what are you doing? You can't play race cars down a public street_!"

"_Sorry, Ludwig_," Tonio says, "_but Alfred was being an idiot_."

"_I have told Kirkland to control him-"_

"Danke Gott. Ja, well, bye now Luddy!"

_"...Bye Bruder. Don't die."_

"Ja, ja!"

I switch him off. What's he so worried about? I'll be fine! I'm too awesome to crash my motorcycle, jeez!  
>Out of the corner of my eye, I see the an almost imperceptible shake of Liz's head. She didn't hear that whole thing, did she? And why the fuck was she talking to Luddy earlier anyway? It looked like he was warning her in advance that she was gonna get raped, or something. NOT THAT THE AWESOME ME WOULD LET THAT HAPPEN! Hahaha, nein! Well... unless the guy was really- Nein, nein I would rescue Lizzie no matter what! JA!<p>

Suddenly a pole appears out of nowhere, and I'm swerving dangerously close to Liz's bike to avoid it. I just manage to pull up centimeters from her, but it causes her to veer off course. Suddenly, I'm watching, horrified, as her bike loses control, sending her down a side alley. I break immediately.  
>It's some sort of fucking irony that I got distracted while thinking of saving the very girl I just side-swept.<p>

"_Bruder! BRUDER! What just happened? Answer me Bru-"_

I yank off my helmet, severing the communication wires in half, and run for the alley, leaving my bike with the others.

"Amigo! We'll wait here," Toni hollers after me.

"DUDE! DUDE! You just killed her!"

I don't turn around when I answer, "Shut the fuck up, Alfred."

I hear a faint "_GIT!_" as I get deeper into the alley, but the sounds of the others just echo off of the dark walls.

"LIZ! ELIZAVETA! Please answer me, liebe!"

Nothing. I finally see her bike, the distance from the road much greater than I would have hoped. "ELIZA-"

"Shut. Up," she hisses, pulling herself out from under the bike.

"You're not dead, she-man!" I cry, flinging myself at her.

"Nem," she grumbles, muffled by my chest, "I'm not dead."

I don't let her go, even when she pushes weakly against me. "I'm sorry, liebe."

"Don't call me that," she whispers, finally shoving her head into open air. "And it wasn't your fault. I got blinded by something coming from the opposite alley. It was some sort of reflection or something. It wasn't you at all. I saw _you_ coming."

"Good. I could have sworn I didn't hit you. You're not hurt, right?"

"Nem. I'm not hurt. Just bruised. I'll be fine for tonight. Don't worry, okay?"

"Ja, sure, but I'm still going to look out for you." I pull away from her, finally, to fix her sopping hair and help her up. A nervous fluttering comes to my stomach when she looks at me, surprise written all over her pale face. "Well, it'll be a story to tell Alice later, ja?"

It just comes out. I meant it as a stupid joke, but- but- I wince at the unawesomeness of it... but it's too late now. Her eyes widen before hardening, that iron wall being built back up.

"Igen, I guess so," she mutters softly, turning away. She brushes past me and rights the bike on her own. I watch, suddenly leaden, as she revs the engine into the rainy night like nothing has happened, and speeds off.

But why do I not want her to go?

* * *

><p><strong>Lily POV<strong>

When Peter appears from around the island bar, I grin shyly at him. He just beams.

"S'up, Lily?"

"Um... "s'up"?"

"Yeah, like 'what's up'?"

"... The ceiling...?"

Peter's eyes widen before mirth explodes from his chest, sending him rolling about on the floor.

"WHAT?" I snap.

"N-nothing," he chortles, "It's just, weird, you know?" he finally says, sitting up. A hand runs through the sandy hair, while he holds my gaze. "Whenever I travel with my brothers, which is rare let me tell you," he grumbles. "We never stay in one place long enough for me to do this."

"Do what?"

"Talk with somebody like you. I've played the occasional game of street soccer in Argentina, or met a guy over a new manga in Japan, or found a bunch of kids in Maine picking blueberries, but I've never gotten past 'Konnichiwa! Watashi no namae wa Peter-desu', you know?"

"Oh, well, I never travel, Peter. I just know people from all over the world," I sigh content, leaning back against the wall. "I would love to do what you speak of, though. Going somewhere and meeting children. What is it like, to be the foreigner?"

Peter settles beside me, and our shoulders brush. "It's incredible. Suddenly, you're out of your own world and thrust into a new one, just like a storybook, and you have to blend in. It forces you to just be yourself. And you meet them and learn them on a a whole new level, because often, you don't know their language. So suddenly, you know this friend, but you've hardly passed a conversation between you. So there's nothing to lie about. I may have met those children for a day or two, but I got to know them better than my friends back home, or for me, back on the internet. Then you leave, and it _is_ like the whole thing happened in a dream or in a story. It's just... it's different, Lily."

"It sounds beautiful."

* * *

><p><strong>Elizaveta POV<strong>

The warehouse looms on the horizon, a dark monster hulking amidst the innocent surroundings. Gilbert accelerates through the barren strip of street separating our party from the bastards. I flow behind him, forming into a line with Toni and Lovi. The new guys catch on, and we snake our way into the lot that lazes before our target, as if to say "Right this way, ladies and gents".

Gilbert and Alfred are the first to dismount their mechanical steeds. I slip off after. Lovi looks stricken. Tonio murmurs softly into his tanned ears, grasping both hands. Slowly, a dead-set expression delves its way into his eyes. He nods sharply and pushes past Tonio into the group.

Finally we're all assembled. Ludwig's crackling voice echoes in my skull.

"_Eliza, Gil severed connection-"_

"I know, I'm sorry, Ludwig. I'm fine, it was just a freak accident."

"_Something blinded you, ja?"_

"...Ja."

"_There was a car idling in the alley across from yours. Gil's lapse in concentration was just that, but your crash, that was not your fault_."

"It was sabotage?"

"_Or just idiots. The car hasn't moved since you passed it_."

"Okay, köszönöm, Ludwig. We're going in."

"_Ja, good luck_," comes his assent.

I sever communication with unease.

"Was that Ludwig, Elizaveta?"

I turn to meet Arthur's curious green gaze, while slipping my mobile phone into the compartment of my bike. Losing that isn't an option. "Igen, Arthur. It was nothing, we're clear to go."

"Brilliant."

* * *

><p><strong>Mei POV<strong>

"... Yao?" I murmur.

"Mm?"

"Why are we merging with them?"

"It is the right choice to make, aru."

"I see."

"Very well, Mei. Goodnight, aru."

"Goodnight."

When his oaken study door shuts with a soft thump, I cannot help but wonder if Xi or Im Yong will return home tonight.

* * *

><p><strong>Lily POV<strong>

"Nein, Peter, that's weird."

"How is that username weird?"

"...TinkleBlond16? Nein, danke."

"Okay, well... how about-"

A melodious ringing fills the air with tinny notes. I automatically snatch my cell phone from its place on the floor and flip open the screen, although it takes my mind a few minutes to realize what's happened.

_From Bruder:  
><em>_TO ALL CONTACTS  
><em>_SOS, shut down job. Nein exceptions. _

I scan the six words four more times, becoming more and more stiff with shock.

"Lily? What's wrong?"

"The mission..."

"What about it?"

"It's being compromised."

* * *

><p><strong>Elizaveta POV<strong>

Gil bangs repeatedly on the door, sending hollow reverberations through the whole building. "Open the fuck up," he mutters when it fails to yield to him. "Must be a fucking lock, or something," he grimaces.

"Excuse me, but is there any-"

The soft voice of Matthew is cut off when a sharp squeaking shatters through the night.

Slowly, the rotting wood swings inward.

"Um... never mind?" Gil says weakly.

"Artie... I don't really think this is a good idea...," Alfred whines into Arthur's jacket.

"Don't be a git, you git! And do not say that you think there are sodding ghosts in there."

"Can we just go, you fucking moronic bastards?" Lovino snaps, pushing between the two bickering brothers and into the dark abyss of the warehouse.

"LOVI! Be careful!" Tonio shouts, leaping after his auburn-headed lover.

"I'll be fucking fine, bastard," comes the muffled reply. "...Just don't leave me."

"Never, mi Lov-" The sounds of the two is severed as the dark swallows them up.

"You ready partner?"

I raise my gaze to Gil's expectant hand.

"Sure. Lets go, ja?" I say, walking ahead of Gil into the maw. I feel fingers grasp at my arm. "Don't touch me, Gilbert."

"Why not, she-man?"

"Don't touch me."

All I get in response is silence. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to squash the miserable feelings from my heart.

"HEY! Tonio! Antonio! Lovi! Lovino!" Gilbert hollers. "Where the fuck did you guys go?"

"A francba," I hiss. "Gilbert, this is _bad_-"

"You think I don't know that?" he yells, rounding on me.

"Don't get that way, I was just trying-"

"To do what you always do! Tell me I'm a fucking moron. I got it, danke."

"What? Nem! That's not-"

"Save it, Liza."

"Nem! Gil, don't think that-"

"OR WHAT? I'm a idiotic moron for saying something like that?"

"N-nem!"

"Because that's all I ever get from you."

"It's not... You're my friend..."

"Ja, and that's it, if you can even call this friendship."

I gasp, feeling all the air rush out of my lungs.

"How about we just split up, Liza?" Gil whispers, tiredly. "I'll take the left side."

"I-igen. Sounds good," I agree faintly. With dead feet I turn away from my oldest friend and make my way around crates and boxes... looking for _something_. But right now, I can barely concentrate on anything but Gil's relentlessly echoing words, "can even call this friendship".

Am I that horrible to him? N-nem, it's equal... he's that way to me...

A door materializes in front of my face. With mechanical hands, I wrench it open and shout something into the stillness. I cross several feet over the threshold. Only silence meets me. Like expected. I begin to turn.

A figure drops from the ceiling in front of my path.

The suffocating quiet is murdered by a ear piercing scream.

* * *

><p><strong>::AN:: **

**Okay, lots of Gil/Liz angst in this. I felt I had to build up their relationship a bit more. **

**QUESTION! Any requests for POVs? I will do almost any character, just PM me or review!**

**Well... I'm dragging this out, aren't I? XD sorry, but it's easier for me, and I felt that you would want me to update at least once more before school starts. Luckily for you, I won't be able to drag anything more out next chapter, so you'll get your action and angst and plot twisters. Unless it gets too long... then you'll get plot twisters and angst the chappy after that~**

**Did you like the constantly changing POVs? I like writing them, so tell me if you like reading them~ ^.^**

**And last, but DEFINITELY not least: Please review! Ich liebe dich~!**

**Translations:**

**Arschloch (German) = asshole  
><strong>**Dummkopf (German) = idiot  
><strong>**Liebe (German) = love  
><strong>**Konnichiwa! Watashi no namae wa Peter-desu (Japanese) = Hello! My name is Peter-desu.  
><strong>**Köszönöm (Hungarian) = thank you  
><strong>**A francba (Hungarian) = Oh hell/let the Devil take it**


	7. Show Them How

**::A/N:: I no own Hetalia, James Bond, Mission Impossible, Wonder Woman, iPod, or anything else I may have missed~ Just the plot~**

**So... uh... is now a bad time to say this is an AU? Heh... heh...**

**Okay little reader peoples~ It is time to tell the sad tale entitled, the Melancholy of MiraMizu15~**

**One day she was writing a piece of her fanfic, it was in Alfred's POV, when the power switched off for a fraction of a second, rendering all her work lost in the recesses of the cold and dark world that was cyberspace. She cried for its return, but her poor work never came back to her. That is why, everyone, if her beautiful story seems a little off, it's because she slaved over every word to recreate the masterpiece she had once been gifted with. It was not enough. Or was it? Review for her please~**

**Well, wow guys, wasn't that just a heart-wrenching story? I thought so. The part about the reviewing really spoke to me. Et toi? XD Just kidding. Except that really did happen -.- So I apologize for anything amiss D: The world hated me that day XP**

**There are some newbies joining us this chapter! I won't name you, but I know EXACTLY WHO YOU ARE, so please, I worship the ground you review upon~**

**Also, because of the constantly changing POVs in such a quick succession, I'm adding clarifying times to this chapter.**

**Warnings: character death and hints at rape**

* * *

><p><strong>Lovino POV – 10:15 PM<strong>

With Antonio's hand safely tucked into my own, I pull him into the blanketing darkness of the warehouse. Glancing around the glass strewn floor and up to the tiny windows missing the same, I can't help but sneer. Why does Vash think the fuckers are here, in this shit hole? I know I wouldn't fucking touch this place, let alone run a crime network out of it. Who the fuck can respect you if this is your center? 'Oh guten tag, ja, I'm a big ass crime boss who operates out of a shit hole in the middle of a shit neighborhood in a shit part of town. Now respect me.' Sì, that is just so fucking formidable. I could walk right into this fucking shit hole and beat the living shit out of every fucking ass in here and take over this pathetic excuse for an organization in a second. Just because I fucking can. That's what this bastardo has created. Whoop-dee-fucking-do for him. Here's a fucking gold medal for your ass wipe accomplishments.

"..Lovi?"

"Huh, what, bastardo?" I question, feeling Antonio's hand tighten around my own.

"I've called your name four times, mi querida."

Oops... "Oh... Mi dispiace, tomato bastard."

"It's okay, mi Lovi! But, ah, why are we in here all alone?"

"What do you mean? Don't fucking tell me you're scared," I grumble, wishing I had a damn flashlight, or had at least remembered my damn phone. It'll be a pain if Antonio trips over something. No wait, that's what fratello would do.

"No, no, Lovi. Just... we did not really wait for a plan."

"So? I'm a fucking mafia boss. I don't need a plan."

"..."

If I could make anything out in this darkness, it would be an expression of confusion on the idiot's face. "Antonio. You're an idiot."

"No, Lovi, maybe this isn't-" But I don't get the chance to hear what the fuck he's got to say.

Somebody's screaming. The sound wraps around and around my heart like a snake until I can barely breathe. It makes me want to cry. Fucking cry. I don't fucking cry... Very often.

"Lovi! Dios mio! Who was that?" Antonio shouts. I hear a scuffling in the darkness, before a light flickers on. It illuminates his tan face in a way I've never seen before, turning him ghostly, pale, and drawn. I hate it.

"You had a fucking light. TU IDIOTA!" I holler, flipping shit, instead of acknowledging my feelings. Ugh, feelings.

"Sì, did you need a light, Lovi?" he asks sweetly. Sometimes I wonder how he's a blood-thirsty killer. I also wonder how he's not dead. Or why fratello hasn't turned into a giant piece of potato-flavored pasta yet.

"Ugh," I mutter, grinding my temples in, trying to be rid of my retarded thoughts. "So, who the fuck do you think that was?"

"It sounded like... it kind of sounded like Liza."

"Liza? Can you seriously imagine her losing it like that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. The Liza I know wants to crack open your skull first, show your identification later.

"She must be in a lot of danger, in order to be so scared."

"... T-tu i-idiota, you're not some fucking fortune teller," I mutter weakly.

"I hope not, mi Lovi."

"I FUCKING HOPE NOT TOO!"

* * *

><p><strong>Gilbert POV – 10:20 PM<strong>

The scream. That verdammt scream. It's the only thing filling my soul, reverberating and shattering every bone, every bit of that weird stuff in the middle of the bone, every hope, and every stupid dream that just passes the time. Why, why does it leave me so empty? Why can't my awesome heart beat around it? Why can't I tell myself that this is just part of what we do? Why does it sound so_ familiar_?

_Bzzz~_

The text message light flashes in my face, sending my spiraling mind immediately onto another track. My heart jumps into my throat as I select the thing.

_10:21 - From Trigger Happy Psychopath:  
><em>_TO ALL CONTACTS  
><em>_SOS, shut down job. Nein exceptions._

Scheiß. Oh Scheiß. Liz doesn't have her phone on her.

I trace my steps immediately, throwing myself back the way I came, towards Liz. Where the fuck is she? Why the fuck did we split up? Where the fuck are Toni and Lovino? Why the _fuck_ did I _say_ that stuff to her? I'm such an arschloch! She's so important to me. If she left... Well... who the hell would my partner be? Or my drinking buddy? Whose scowl would I wake up to at noon every other day? And who would yell at me every time I accidentally shoot something I'm not supposed to (read as her stuff)? Who's drunken giggle would I get to hear after every bar stint? The way she shrieks when I-

A ton of lead lands mercilessly into my lungs. _Lizzie._ The scream was _Lizzie's_. All the substance left in my body slowly drains out. Wow, I actually preferred the lead.

Nein. Nein. **Nein**.

I tear through fleetingly illuminated, towering stacks of boxes and falling debris. "LIZ!" I holler into the darkness, the darkness that's eaten her. "LIZ!" I don't care that I should be deathly silent right now. I'm beyond caring that I could be shot at any minute. There's nobody in this dump to hear me anyway.

_...Except the person who's hurting Liz..._

Fuck! That's unawesome!

I curse myself avidly.

Nobody's hurting Elizaveta! She probably saw a- a spider or something! Ja! That's it! A stupid, unawesome spider!

"LIZ!"

Just don't be dead. I never told you, she-man, so you can't be dead.

* * *

><p><strong>Alfred POV – 10:26 PM<strong>

I puff out my breath in frustration, feeling the one hundred bajillion thoughts smashing off of each other in my brain, like a way too crowded game of pin ball. Why did Arthur force us to come to Switzerland in the first place, again? Sure, we were having a lot of hit and run type stuff back in our respective countries, break-ins, ambushes, weird stuff in general, but nothing to warrant this right?... Never mind, screw it. Seriously, though, where did everyone else get to? Arthur and Mattie insisted on staying outside to "hold down fort" or something, even after they heard that girl shriek. Well no way was I going to sit out there and wait for other people to do the fun stuff. So I'm being heroic and finding the rest of our team. So far, though, there's been a load of nothing. The obvious couple just up and disappeared and the obvious-to-everyone-but-themselves couple, complete nada. God, brain, I'm sooo bored.

I raise my eyes drearily, and start trying to keep the cowlick in my hair afloat with my breath. Yeah... I wish that Arthur had at least let me bring my phone. That way I could feel epic to the Mission Impossible theme song or something. But noooo. "Bloody git, you'll just break it like the last one!" Stupid Arthur.

But that's when I see her.

Her eyes are painted with lupines.

Her hair bleached like silk.

Her skin molded from pearl and diamond.

She's like a painting, intangible and desirable...

...And stuff...

Seriously, y'all, I'm no frickin' poet. Like, swearing on my mother. Er... well... my mother's grave...

Aw, that is just depressing!

Anyway...

The hottest chick I've ever seen is standing like five feet away from me. Well... maybe five and a half feet. In an ass wipe warehouse. Wait... we're on a mission, right? My eyes are glued to her, and everything else goes hazy. So is this an enemy? Oh... wait... that's a gun. That is a gun, right? So that means she's an enemy... Yeah, okay. She's an enemy. **Why** is it that all the babes are the gun-toting, undoubtedly bible-licking, marriage-before-sex psychopaths? It's not _fair_! With a grunt of displeasure (daaaaamn I sound like Iggy), I begin to speak like human being again, and not a cave man. "So...uh... you gonna like blow the brains outta my head now?" I ask her, as she looks me up and down.

"Da," she replies, depressingly concise and to the point, stabbing me with her husky melodic voice. Russian maybe?

"That sucks balls. I can't exactly fuck you raw then carry you off into the sunset on a lawnmower now... can I?"

"...Nyet, American rat."

"Okay," I begin, inwardly wincing at the spite on my pride, "never been to Russia, hold on. I caught the 'da', but the 'nyet'? Not so much."

"How about "Prepare to die' then?"

"Much better!" I say, smiling charmingly. "That was a movie reference, wasn't it?" Distractions, distractions. This is bad. I can't shoot a girl. Heroes don't shoot ladies. We rescue them.

"Nyet."

"Da, didn't think so," I mutter, losing focus for a minute, imagining her in a Wonder Woman costume...

God Almighty, it was sixty frickin' seconds.

Her lovely eyes widen in surprise.. "Wha-? Are you mocking me, filthy-"

Ah... Maybe a little early to let that one slip... "Nyet, Моя ошибка."

"You- you speak Russian?"

"Da. Тем не менее интересно?"

A beautiful crimson dusting appears over her pale cheek bones, but her eyes and voice become cooler, more like the frigid land of her home. "Nyet."

"Well... bummer." I shrug my massive footballer shoulders.

Before she can blink, she's on the ground, and come morning, she'll be nursing a huge bruise on her arm. I snatch the gun from where it's lying beside her really sexy hips, snap it in two, and drop it at her feet. Then I turn and leap over her, back towards the doors where we began this escapade.

Well this mission has obviously gone to fuck. What's with the Europeans? What they need are a few machine guns, some hand grenades, and switch blade. No more of this "Lets go in with a PLAN! Keep the weapons HIDDEN! Go to town, but DON'T cause a scene!" Three of my least favorite words. Plan, hidden, and don't. Isn't this job about bursting in, guns blazing, and shooting everyone in a mile radius (five if it's with explosives)? What kinds of movies do these Frenchies watch? Probably gay ones. Well... the actual Frenchie _definitely_ watches those. Despite what my dearest brother may have thought, I could legit see Francis and those creeper hands. A mile away. I may wear glasses (contacts most of the time), but I'm not blind.

"NYET!"

I turn to see the Russian girl scrambling to her feet. She's actually pretty fast. I was kind of expecting her boobs to slow her down...

WELL SUE ME, I'M A DUDE!

Even so, I'm also a football player. And that's actually football, not that futbol crap. There's football, and then there's soccer. Ugh, another European thing-

I glance back once more to see how much time there is between us. Maybe I can pull that always-irritating skip-down-the-field-to-the-end-zone thing I used to do back in the states. Except, not to an end zone this time. Only, when I glance back to assess, she's right on top of me. Okay... well... _not _expecting that.

I quickly scan around for anything to use in eluding her, without just turning around and shooting her dead. Then I see it. The perfect escape. Classy, loud, and effective. And no corpses of hot girls involved.

I'm running along one of the warehouse's four walls. This building is being held up by something, and that would be the steadily decaying support beams. Using immense force, I vault myself upwards and snatch onto the beam three feet above my head. I hear her outburst of discontent about fifteen feet away, but unfortunately, she can still reach me if she catches up. The wooden pole extends ten more feet up into the air. I steadily haul myself up it. When the end of the road arrives, I tense into a steady swing, gaining momentum until I'm able to fly across a gap one foot above my head and three feet in front of me. The feat lands me onto a vertical plank. Like a gymnast I twist myself around the bar and get above it, my abs successfully making it past the wood without any splinters at all. Sick.

I look down at my hunter. She's pacing the floor like a tiger, waiting for me to "come down". Yeah, in this case, that's also know as falling on my face. Ow. Not a part of the this totally thought-out, heroic plan.

"Wanna reconsider, babe?" I yell down to her, waving a bit in her general direction, honestly trying to be friendly. Heroes are always polite! And hungry. I could sure as heck use a hamburger-

A flicker lights up her soul. I see it flash in her eyes, and they're like, the window, right? Huh, I wonder-

"SHIT FUCK!" I yowl, as a searing pain shoots through my left bicep. My hand immediately clenching around the new wound, I see, out of the corner of my eye, her left fist gripping a wicked sharp knife, her other poised like it just released a second.

My balance is thrown into whack, the blow sending me staggering dangerously close to the edge. She regards this with deadly indifference, more or less looking at my like I'm a cloud that can't decide between raining or clearing out. I guess in her case... snowing or clearing out...

"Reconsider this," she replies, slipping the other knife away, into the folds of her jacket. ..Why? Is she giving up?

The distraction costs me. My left sneaker slips off the weathered wood, sending me into the start of a fatal descent. Oh fuck.

But, I'm an athlete. I snatch at the wood as I fly by it, catching my body in a lurching jerk. The gun in my back pocket (_what?_ There was no where else to put it! I had emergency hot dogs where the gun is supposed to be! How was I supposed to know this would happen?) drops out, onto the floor, with an unceremonious thud. Dangling precariously, I watch the Russian gently scoop it from the dirt. Oh fuck nuggets.

She points its shiny barrel into perfect trajectory with my face.

"You don't want to do this, you-"

The ghost of a smile touches the corners of her flawless mouth. "Da, I do, American."

"This is important to you." It wasn't a question, but it wanted an answer.

"Da." The way she says it to me, just makes me wish she would put the gun down more. If I could just take her on a date, something small and easy. A crazy fun to effort ratio. Make her_ laugh_. I bet she has a beautiful laugh.

The click of her nail against the trigger, brings me back to reality.

"We would've been incredible."

She falters for a moment, but when her voice finds itself again, it is unwavering. "Nyet."

Maybe getting shot by the beautiful Russian woman who broke my heart isn't so bad. It's kinda like James Bond, right?

* * *

><p><strong>Antonio POV – 10:26 PM<strong>

"Fucking great, this fucking warehouse is damn fucking creepy! What the fuck do they mean by shitting around like this? Can't they fucking show themselves, God fucking damn it? What a damn waste of time. I mean, fuck, this is just-"

"Lovi. That's not really helping," I murmur, although I do understand his complaints. Where _is_ everyone?

"Well fuck if I give a shit."

"Mi Lovi, por favor."

"... Fine, bastard."

"Gracias, querida. We should focus on finding Gil and Liza, sì?"

A sigh escapes from between my lover's lips. "Sì, bastard, great time to decide to be serious. Where do you think the moron and Liza ran off too?"

"I don't know... but we'll find out, don't worry!"

Lovi's beautiful amber eyes meet mine. He hates it when I tell him he's beautiful. He says it's a damn waste calling someone beautiful when you yourself are so much better. I think that was his way of saying I'm beautiful too.

"Bastard," he says, affectionately, "I'm not worried. But, either way, the stupid pervert will be fine. We'll fucking find him, I swear we will."

"Aw, Lovi, you don't need to make vows for me!"

"IT WASN'T FOR YOU DAMMIT!"

"Ah, Lovi, quiet, por favor..."

"Screw- Ah, fine, tomato bastard. Hey." He holds out a perfectly tanned hand to stop me. "That's new."

"What is-"

"That," he says quickly, cutting me off. I look over at him in surprise. His forehead is furrowed at something in the distance. Pulling my gaze from his face, I look for what he sees. I can't find anything.

"What, mi-"

"Just come on." He cuts me off again.

So I follow my determined lover. His shoulders gently roll back, and his head is tilted to the side. He nonchalantly rests his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, strutting across the floor like he's got two very big guns in places you don't want to know. Which, I suppose, he does. He runs a hand through his hair, knowing how sexy he looks doing it.

I smirk. Lovi's got the situation under control. Now he's just showing off.

I prefer to stay out of Lovi's way when he gets like this. Not because it isn't sexy or amazing. I just bumble everything up. Or I think I do. Lovi tells me I don't (so cute), but I wonder why him and little Feli aren't partners. They are amazing together. Dangerous, frightening, in perfect sync. It is how twins are (or so Francis tells me), and they were perfect when they joined us. Perfect together. But they never partnered. Feliciano trailed around after Ludwig, while I found myself pulled towards Lovi because he was an adorable, sexy, Italian magnet. I once confessed to Lovi my remorse for forcing him to be my partner, but he said we worked just as well as him and Feli, if not better (so cute). I don't _try_ to understand Lovi... I just do. ¿Sì?

"Lets go bastard. Get my back."

"Of course, querida."

Within a few more feet, Lovi is leading us into a back room of the warehouse, one I didn't spot before. Another door lies at the end of the room.

"When I say."

"Sì, I know, Lovi."

In one fluid act, Lovi's right foot kicks upwards and explodes against the fragile wood of the door, splintering it. With a deathly creaking, it slowly falls backwards into the room, landing surprisingly silently. Lovi lowers to the ground, and I move past him, into the darkness.

"See a light switch?" comes Lovi's rich Italian drawl.

"No- Ah, wait. Sì, here is one." My fingers run along the bottom of the plastic panel, before I flick the tiny lever. Sickly light illuminates the room, casting brownish shadows.

"D-dio. Ti prego Signore ci rendono sicuri, non ci lasciare, veglia su di noi questa sera. F-fuck."

I turn at the garbled Italian prayer to see Lovi frozen in detached disgust.

Sitting in a chair, propped to look like he's simply taking a fifteen minute break, is the man we were supposed to be hassling money out of. Someone got there before us. A long, viciously deep chasm tears down the center of his body, splitting the cotton of his shirt into symmetric halves. It hangs limply from the edges of the stainless steel chair. The skin, pale as snow, is dotted with ugly purple rivers of blood that are jutting out forcefully from the inside of the body, like they were desperate to escape death. A post-it note has been stapled sloppily to the beefy forehead, causing red blotches to mar the neatly printed text. Lovi pulls it off the man, rather like he's removing a notice from a bulletin board.

"Surprise," Lovi intones, and after its information has sunk in, he crumples the note into a ball, tossing it away.

"We are too late?" I mutter stupidly. I understand, but I am not ready to vocalize it just yet.

"Sì."

"But, what does that mean?"

"It means we're being set up."

"But why?"

A hand cups my cheek, and I glance around, out of my haze. "Antonio," my Italian whispers, calmly, sadly. "There are people here who want to kill us. This mission is screwed. That ass down there," he continues, jabbing in the corpse's direction, "is dead. We will be too if we don't get a move on. We need to get back to the base. Now."

Without waiting for a response, he pulls me towards the door.

"Lovi. Te amo." I say quickly, as we pass back over the door jam.

I feel his hand tremble in my own. "Not now, bastard."

"Lovi," I beg, tightening my grip as he pulls me back into the first room. The mountains of boxes make is so we're walled in and alone. I yank him around, stronger than he, and we're face to face once more. I have to hear him say it.

"Antonio..."

"Por favor, Lovi. Por favor."

His silence is oppressive.

"You do not." I hear the statement leave my lips, so much sadness in it. Every ounce of emotion is the truth.

Those amber-gold eyes flash upwards, finally meeting mine. "No, I- I love you so much, Antonio. Ti amo, ti amo."

I shine my light onto his lovely face, memorizing it. Memorizing the soft blush, the depression in his eyes, the set of his mouth.

"Don't fucking die tonight," he finally whispers, "or I'm never talking to you again, bastard."

"Sì, mi Lovi! I promise you I won't die!" I take a moment to think on the request. "...But... Is getting seriously maimed okay?"

"Antonio ... Please tell me that was a joke."

"It was!" I beam, even though it wasn't really, and he probably can't see me in the semi-darkness anyhow.

"Good." I don't catch the next string of sentences, but that's okay! I'm sure Lovi's just singing, or something! I wish he would sing louder, he has a beautiful voice.

Silence falls when I tug Lovi next to me, slipping my hand into his back pocket. Finally, Lovi lets out a growl of frustration. "FUCK! We've been fucking walking for ten minutes in a fucking circle, no doubt!"

I just hum, content with the fact Lovi isn't mad that my hand's all over his ass.

"I'm fucking done," he continues, moving away from me and my hand. "There is obviously some damn bastard here. Might as well get this over with!"

My disappointment turns to shock as Lovi kicks over a giant pile of debris. The clanging sound explodes around us, making my chest constrict with fear. "Lovi-!"

"SHOW YOURSELF, FUCKING BASTARD!"

Nobody comes. Lovi waits a few moments before shouting again, the stillness of the place just bouncing his antagonized voice back at us.

Then, silencing even Lovi's thundering accusations, comes the whistling crack.

The Italian freezes, knowing exactly what that sound means.

"That was-"

"A gun," Lovi mutters, face becoming stony. "LIZA!" he hollers. "PERVERT! LIZA! PERVERT! LI-"

"Looking for someone?"

"...That wasn't you, Antonio."

"No."

By the ghastly blue light of my iPod, we both turn to an unwelcome stranger.

* * *

><p><strong>Elizaveta POV – 10:27 PM<strong>

"So pretty, so pretty. I like pretty things," the Asian man chants softly, tugging at a lock of my hair.

I attempt to twist out of his grasp, but he uses his body to shove mine back against the wall. Hard.

"No, no, no! I do not let my things run away!" he coos, running my hair through his fingers, taking it in large sections now. "Not something so pretty."

I growl into the skin of his hand, but to no avail am I able to bite it off.

He's strong. Stronger than Ludwig, maybe, but misleading because of his size. He has me flush with the wall to my back and his body to my front. I feel every inch of him through our clothing, and I hate it. I don't want him touching me like this, although he has not passed the point of simply invading my personal space and playing with my hair. But I can't move. I can't strike him or throw him off. I'm caged.

"You will grow to appreciate this," he whispers, trailing a hand down my arm.

My eyes bleed fury.

He laughs a little, leaning closer to my face. "Don't scream again, pretty, or it will be the last thing you do."

I highly doubt that.

I shut my eyes tight, trying to center my desperation, but suddenly his breath, hot against my neck, breaks my concentration. Eyes snapping open, his large brown ones are filling every inch of my vision. He has full intention of taking advantage of me.

He softly lifts his hand away from my mouth. Now is my chance. I hurriedly prepare to scream.

"Im Yong."

What? Another man? Nem, nem. The first turns slowly to face the second. The newcomer emerges from the shadows, his expression of distaste. He is clothed in all black, a gun on one hip, a long curving sword on the other.

"Xi?"

"This was not why we were sent here."

"It's just a little fun, loosen up~"

"I do not see how raping the enemy qualifies as fun."

With their attention diverted, I try to ascertain the position of my switch blade. It's half sewed into the hem of my pants, for moments just like this. I stretch for it, reaching to graze the blade. I am rewarded by tiny globules of blood blossoming against my index finger.

Im Yong pouts, still pushing against me. "No, it's definitely fun, Xi. I'll share! Only, we will be clear that she is definitely _mine_."

Xi's scowl deepens. "Fool."

"Am not."

"Kill her and be done with it."

I wrap two fingers around the dull edge of the blade.

"But that is so wasteful," Yong whines.

"Do it. There are supposed to be seven here tonight. One is being taken care of. Three are wandering the warehouse, two wait outside. I will take care of the ones in. When she is dead, take care of the ones out." Xi leaves without even waiting for an answer.

I start to pull my hidden weapon from its hiding place. It slides several centimeters at a time.

"Fine," Yong grumbles to the place Xi once stood. "But _we_ can still a have little fun," he grins wickedly in my direction. "Don't worry, I don't scratch my toys, they're made better than that."

I whimper, merely a facade, while trying desperately to yank the knife fully out of its sheath.

"Relax," he breathes, slowly coming closer. Our noses are pressed together.

Then his hand disappears from my mouth. Before I can utter a scream for help, before I can beg for Gil, his lips are against mine.

I am so surprised and livid, I don't feel the searing in my hand as I pull the knife fully into the open. I realize there is blood dripping onto the floor, but I am numb to everything, but the pounding in my ears. I don't register the stinging pain, nor the feeling of this nasty man against my body, nor his tongue pressing into my mouth. I feel nothing.

"Get off of her."

Im Yong freezes, releasing a little of the pressure, not recognizing the German voice. But I do. It's my turn to grin. With one fluid motion, I whip my hand out from its position caught between the wall and my back, and I stab him. But my arm has no blood in it, I've lost feeling, and the blade misses its mark, instead burying itself in his shoulder. He howls.

"How. Dare. You," he hisses, staggering into the opposite wall. The knife slowly slides out of its home, covered in red, as he tugs it away. With near-deadly accuracy, it embeds in the plaster next to my head. I'm glad I got him in his dominant arm.

At Yong's attack, Gilbert begins to move from his stone-stiff position in the doorway. He walks across the room, seemingly nonchalant, but his clenched fists give him away to me. No one else would notice, except maybe Tonio, Francis, and Ludwig. It's like he's out shopping, not about to murder somebody. But I suppose, that's why he's so good at what he does.

The Asian snarls at Gil's approaching figure, using the wall to push himself to his feet. His uninjured arm searches for a handhold.

Gilbert just keeps coming. He carelessly slides the gun out of his pocket, polishing it on his shirt. He's a meter from Yong. Half a meter.

I can't see Gil's face, only his muscled back, but the look Yong's giving him, it's like he's seeing God. Or the Devil. Nem, a terrible mixture of both. Wailing, Yong slides back down the wall, staring terrified into Gilbert's eyes. Lazily, Gil props the gun onto his index finger, idly swinging it left and right, never quite landing a point blank shot to the skull.

"Gil-!"

The explosive crack of the bullet leaving its womb is muffled only by the malleable flesh of Im Yong's head.

* * *

><p><strong>Arthur POV 10:36 PM<strong>

We both hear them. Nearly back to back, each signaling death. Matthew stops chewing anxiously on his nails mid-way through the ring finger on his left hand, instead moving on to tap nervously against the bike.

"Arthur-"

"I-I know lad. It must... It was a bloody warning shot. Or Alfred is bored again and shooting at things. It's just those sodding Europeans-"

"Arthur... You are European," he whispers softly, pushing his flaxen hair behind one ear. Our family is all shades of blonde. Peter and Alfred are perhaps a bit more bleached, being out in the sun as often as they are. Matthew's is darker, just like his eyes. Indigo-purple.

"Ah, right you are, mate. I'm sure it's nothing," I smile, forcing it to look genuine.

"Arthur..."

I always appreciate his manners. So much better than Alfred's, constantly calling me Artie, or Art, or Iggy. Or Peter calling me Eyebrow Turd. I truly loathe that one.

"Arthur... you don't have to pretend for me. I'm old enough to understand, you know. I'm just a few years behind you. Same with Alfred, even if he doesn't seem it sometimes. And Peter... he's old enough too. We all are. Why are we here Arthur?"

I watch his calm appearance turn to one of iron determination. He won't leave it. He'll just keep bringing it up at the worst possible times, passive aggressively extracting it bit by bit. It's his talent in this industry.

Bloody passive aggressive prat.

I just sigh in his direction, hoping the greatness of the act will reach Peter and Alfred as well, wherever the bloody hell they are. "Matthew, it's complicated."

"I think we have time before the saboteurs come after us."

I gape in his direction. "What?"

In answer he holds up his mobile.

_10:21- From *****  
><em>_TO ALL CONTACTS  
><em>_SOS, shut down job. Nein exceptions._

Oh bloody hell. Quickly, fighting panic, I turn my own mobile on to see the very same message flashing across the small screen. How many people got this? Not many, it seems, or else they would all be out by now. And Alfred- Bloody hell. Why did I tell Alfred to leave his phone here?

Guiltily, I sneak a glance at the offending rectangle behind me. Sure enough, there it is, nestled into the padding of Alfred's motorcycle helmet, glinting faintly in the light of the street.

"Arthur."

Starting, I turn back to Matthew again, now feeling double the amount of guilt for forgetting about one twin and endangering the other. "A lot of things are changing, Matt," I sigh, ruffling my already rumpled hair. "There are too many crime networks completing for the same things, for starters."

Matthew just nods softly, taking it all in with those accepting violet eyes. "Who are we running from, Arthur?"

I don't even acknowledge Matthew's extraordinary amount of perception anymore. I like to think he's just making up for Alfred's lack of it. "I wish I knew," I answer truthfully, rubbing my temples. "Personally, I would like to say it was all that bloody French git's fault, but sadly, he's not responsible."

"Arthur, you can't just go around blaming everything on Francis. I'm sure he's a perfectly nice man!"

"I never want to see you again, Matthew!"

"Well, Alfred likes to say you can't see anything anyway because of those eyebrows."

"You bloody git!"

I allow the pointless bickering to remain between us for a few minutes more. Anything to keep our minds off of the others. But slowly, the minutes tick by on my watch. I have a harder and harder time answering Matthew, or even listening to what he's saying. He keeps up the charade fine on his own, soon babbling on and on about his old boyfriend, and how "One time we got so high together, we actually stripped naked and ran around Toronto! Someone only told us afterwards of course, apparently we also had sex in the middle of a snowbank, so embarrassing-" ect, ect. Poor Matthew gets highly excitable when he's nervous. Breaking myself from my panicked haze, I discreetly glance over to the boy, to make sure he isn't high _now_.

Finally, I can't stand it anymore. I wrench the earphones to the communication system out of my pocket and call the base.

"Oui, who is it?"

Her voice comes over the air, and I almost end the call. But her anxiety is what stops me. "Arthur," I finally growl through gritted teeth, ignoring Matthew's confused expression.

"Oui, Arthur! You must leave, now!"

Another voice breaks into the conversation, only bits and pieces making it through. "Victoire... shut... been tapped... cherie...," the frog's voice abruptly vanishes, just leaving the frail sound of the girl's breathing.

"Arthur!" she finally cries, "It is not safe, you have to get off the property! The Ru-"

Another bout of interference cuts her off, comprised of jumbling voices, then the line explodes into fierce static. I mouth soundlessly.

"Arthur? Arthur!"

I turn slowly to see Matthew worriedly shaking, a gun in each hand.

"We need to wait here, Matthew," I order, snapping out of my shock. "Someone'll come to get us, and we'll be bloody ready when they do!"

"O-Okay."

He takes considerable time and methodology in loading both of the pistols. Mine are already loaded and ready. So instead of worrying about the future, I mull over what I just heard. A tiny part of me is actually _worried_ for that abominable woman. Because that other bit of interference, was one of the creepiest things I have ever heard. It was some kind of laugh. It sounded like... Sort of like...

Sort of like kolkolkolkolkol.

But who the bloody hell laughs like that?

* * *

><p><strong>::AN:: Wow. Not only did I lie to you all when I said I would probably have this mission wrapped up by now, but I wrote the longest chapter yet. And killed Korea... O.o So, as is obvious, I just left more cliff hangers than I began with... Yay! Well, in all honesty, I would have continued writing if I hadn't been over 6000 words. But I am. So I guess review with suggestions, requests, or just plain love ^.^ Everything is welcome~ Except maybe random flamers.**

**Also, I may have made Hong Kong and Korea a little OC or something... It's hard keeping some of these characters picture perfect when they're from such a happy-go-lucky anime and I'm trying to transition them to a darker fiction... So my apologies XP I do my best~**

**Translations:**

**Guten Tag (German) = hello  
><strong>**Mi dispiace (Italian) = sorry/my regret  
><strong>**Da (Russian) = yes  
><strong>**Nyet (Russian) = no  
><strong>**Моя ошибка (Russian) = [roughly] my mistake  
><strong>**Тем не менее интересно (Russian) = [roughly] interested yet?  
><strong>**Ti prego Signore ci rendono sicuri, non ci lasciare, veglia su di noi questa sera. (Italian) = Please Lord make us safe, not leave us, watch over us this evening.**

**Thank you all for reading!**

**Oh and one last thing. I'm not a particular lover of Canada (sorry everyone! I'm keeping him in this fic though!), so if you are, do you have any pairing requests? If you say PruCan, you're dead to me, and unwelcome on this fic =.= Just saying. And no Americest or Maple Tea, please. Not only do the other men in question already have pairings in my story, but incest is just something I'm not willing to add to this already convoluted plot line XD (convoluted is my word of the week, btw~) **

**So yeah, thanks everybody! You know the drill! Well most of you do... I see all you people who never review! I'm thankful you read at all, but if you'd care to review...**


	8. Is It Becoming Clearer?

**::A/N:: The usual: I don't own Hetalia**

**Soundtrack: Requiem For A Dream by Clint Mansell, Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park**

**IMPORTANT: I now have a poll up about this story! Please take the time to answer it ^.^ It's simply asking who you want to see more of and stuff~ PLEASE ANSWER IT O.o **

**Okay. So, was it unclear that this fic is going to be dark, bloody, graphic, ect? Because I certainly didn't mean to make it sound unclear. Lets begin anew.**

**This is going to be dark, bloody, angsty, graphic, smutty, ect. Don't like, don't read, and unless the gore is LITERALLY DEGRADING THE STORY'S QUALITY, I don't wanna know. I'm sorry if you're squeamish, maybe just skip past those parts? ^.^**

* * *

><p><em>All that we see or seem<br>Is but a dream within a dream._

* * *

><p><strong>Gilbert POV – 10:37 PM<strong>

No matter what anyone says, it's not because I shot him. Squeezing the trigger towards my body, squeezing out someone's life... I do that all the time. It's my fucking job, for Gott's sake. And guilt doesn't cause this blurring of my eyes. Not tears. Nein. There is a foggy haze, concentrated around the outer edges of my vision; red to match. They're the blinders to my horse, removing everything that isn't this one central focus. I know it all too well. I just can't pinpoint why the heck it's happening _right now_. So nein, the bubbling rage inside me is not because I shot that complete shit. That's not the reason the trembling continues.

I stand slowly, rising on my hackles, simultaneously shoving my gun into the waistband of my jeans. I barely spare a second glance for the slowly draining corpse. It's unawesome to respect dirt.

"Gil."

My body turns to meet her spoken request, but my eyes don't. I can't look at her right now.

"You shouldn't have done that, you moron."

It doesn't matter now, does it?

"Gil?"

You're still alive. That had better mean _something_ to you.

"Gilbert?"

It had better fucking mean something.

"**Gilbert!**"

"Ja."

"Er- That was stupid."

"Shut the fuck up about it, Little Lizzie, I thought it was awesome!" It's meant to come off as a joke, but she sees the sneer.

"Wha-?"

"I saved your life. Or your virginity, or whatever. Be thankful woman. What would you do without me?" I announce, striking a pose.

"Gilbert, you idiot! I know you, ah, _intervened_, but-"

"Intervened? Ja, something like that. Don't tell me you would have rather it went the other way."

"Nem, just-"

"I don't really want to hear it, you know."

"I don't really care, you know. What you did-"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. This conversation is over," I growl, barely controlling the haze.

"Nem, it's not!"

"Ja, it is." She stumbles a little, when I push her out of my way.

I feel the stinging across my face later than I expected, but there's not just a hot smarting where her hand flies. Something else accompanies the hot, a cooling sensation. I glance down at her hand to see it coated in red. I trail a finger against my cheek; it comes away stained.

"Would you fucking hear me out!" she yells, clenching her fingers into a fist, hiding the wound from sight.

"Why?"

I hear her gasping for words, the utter frustration even coming across in that gesture. "Because I want to talk to you..."

"I don't want to hear it, if there's nothing important to say" I reiterate, shrugging and shifting furtively towards the door, still never meeting those beautiful fiery green eyes.

A hand latches onto my jacket sleeve, pulling me back with the strength I know so well. Is it bad that I've practically memorized that damn gesture?

"Get off," I snarl, affable facade cracking as I rip free of her long-fingered grasp. "We have a fucking job to finish, pull it together, Eli." I scowl and the drying blood on my face crackles uncomfortably.

"..."

Her silence makes me want to turn, but...

"I- ja," she eventually murmurs, "I guess you're right."

Somewhere, a part of me registers this unconventional surrender, but I'm already moving past her, leaving her behind yet again. Leaving is what we do best, though. We both know it, so she says nothing until I'm about to exit the room. But then, the softest whisper reaches my ears. A foolish whisper. Later, I realize I probably wasn't meant to hear it at all.

"Köszönöm."

I completely turn away then, feeling that unbelievable amount of emotion welling up inside. I don't want it, I don't need it, it's fucking unawesome.

Liz... You're the reason I can't stop trembling. It's all your fault, she-man. You just don't know it yet.

* * *

><p><strong>Elizaveta POV – 10:45 PM<strong>

Gilbert.

The name makes me wince, and immediately I push it away. _Nem._

With a quick shake of my head, I push forward, following Gilbert's footsteps back into the warehouse and its endless rows of boxes. When I enter the maze, I do it alone. Gilbert is long gone, but that's just the way that idiot is. I don't think much of it. I'll end up killing something if I think much of it.

I take the nearest left, hand tightening around my gun. It's time to focus. I strain to catch wind of anything, any sound, any sign that I'm in fact not the only human being in the world, but the emptiness begins to press down. It's that emptiness where the soul is stretching for anything, and eventually it stretches itself thin. The panic falls around you. Panic kills. I stagger my breath to tie down my nerve. Then I cut the line. Only efficiency and experience are allowed through the filter.

Voices up ahead alert me to my next destination: Lovino and Antonio.

"BASTARD! Turn the fuck around, you fucking wimp! Get the fuck away from him!" Lovino.

"Move!" Antonio.

"Left!"

"Tomate!"

"I got it!"

I break into a run, following the sounds of the skirmish. Rounding a corner, I only hit a dead end, literally. I crash into the wood, backing up with what feels like a nose pumped full of helium. A hearty string of profanity is directed at the ten or fifteen rows of wooden crates barricading the way, but the wall stretches endlessly in both directions.

"Basszus!" I scream, lashing out in fury. Again, I take the left presented to me, but the wall remains unceasing. Rapidly the voices grow fainter, and I curse, my mouth dirtying by the second. I'm just losing them. The dirt under my feet flies up, muddying the air, as I spin back around, towards the crossroads. There has to be another way.

Think, think! There must be _something_! I prop my boot up on the lip of one of the crates and tap my knees impatiently.

"FUCK!"

"Tomate!"

"I'm fucking fine, dammit! Focus, Bastardo!"

"Gah!" I screech, pressing up on my left foot and gaining three feet. Eyes widening, I glance down. _Igen_. The crates are like stairs. Gracefully, with all the skill of a leopard, I throw myself up the mountain of aging, rotting wood. It splits into my fingernails and catches on the stretchy cloth of my pants, but finally, I vault onto the top crate and gaze below onto the mayhem dominating the other side.

Lovino and Antonio are weaving and dancing around Xi, as fate would have it. His steel edged sword flashes out every so often, causing the European men to dodge and break their routine, sending confusion into their concentration. With the slightest of warnings to his partner, Lovi goes for a punch to the face. Antonio sees and ducks to kick Xi's legs out from under him. The ploy almost works. Distracted by Toni, Xi fails to see Lovi coming in for the blow until almost the last second. But then he whips to the side, slipping past Lovi.

Lovi's eyes stretch as large as saucers and a dangerous tilt comes to the his body. "_Fuck._"

"TOMATE!" Antonio screams, running to Lovi's side as he slips to the floor.

_Nem_.

"I'm fucking fine, Bastardo. Get that Chinese shit-head," Lovi snarls, leaning heavily against the make-shift crutch.

"No, Tomate-"

"Watch out Bastardo!"

I flick my eyes away from Lovi, and zero in on Xi, who's racing from across the room, sword held aloft, straight for Antonio's turned back. I quickly wipe my bleeding palm against my leg, and in a moment, my gun is in hand. Leveling myself, I brace against the crate and take aim. The bullet misses by a millimeter. I curse the poor grip.

The explosive metallic clang echoes around the room as the bullet explodes into the blade of the sword, directly above the hilt, rather than the masters hand. The weapon flies and crashes into the cement of the wall, snapping jaggedly in two. All three sets of eyes wide, I descend several steps nearer to the floor, before jumping the remaining distance.

"Hungary!"

I meet Toni's eyes and grin. I haven't heard that name in a while; the name given to me after one too many bad-ass, rigorous missions and the three long, painful years that Gil and I put in. We served our 'initiation' and became Hungary and Prussia, known for dealing a no-shit business. It's my title in this underground life, and I own it. I enjoy knowing that they hear my name and shake. Let them know they're about to get a bullet to the brain. Let them imagine their last moments before I even have the lead loaded. I try to forget the time when Gilbert only wished he was Prussian, and I only had Hungarian roots. I like to pretend Gil's always been haunted by nightmares and I've always been covered in scars. It's easier to forget a time when we were free.

_...**.**_

"_Ja Lizzie, we're free people now, you know."_

"_I know. It's hard to forget when that's the only thing that's come out of your mouth _all day_."_

"_It's pretty fucking awesome!"_

"_Ja, it is, but think about it. This is the last summer we get to do this together, Gilbert. Just sitting here under the Tree, talking."_

_Gilbert sighs moodily, shifting his weight so that we're pressed together. "Way to ruin the moment, Liz. I forgot for a blessed second about your stupid aristocratic college."_

_I fall back on our diversion tactic: tease and distract. "How could you forget Gilbert? I mention it every waking moment, you know. Like how we're free-"_

"_Oh, don't even talk about being free. You're not free, you're going to some unawesome private college for aristocrat prats," Gil mutters, running a hand through his white hair._

"_I am not."_

"_You so are. Their brochure had a little fancy emblem on the cover **and **you wear uniforms **and** my cousin is going there. That makes it prissy and stupid."_

"_You're just jealous," I snap, twisting my neck around to glower at him._

_His face transforms from one of grudging sadness to his signature leering smirk, the one that all the girls either hate or love. I'm weird because I both hate _and_ love it. "Oh please, Liz. Jealous? Yeah right! My life is all set, she-man, and I _don't_ have to wear a tie."_

_I ignore the jabs. "Oh that's right," I drawl, skeptically. "You've got your other cousin's fast food empire."_

_Gil snorts. "It's not fast food! Kesesese, imagine me working in a fast food restaurant-"_

"_Don't worry, been there done that, Gilbo. And lets remember: they don't wear ties."_

"_Oh shut up."_

"_Nem," I giggle, pinching a pale cheek. _

"_Hey! Not awesome, leggo the face!" Gilbert screeches, shifting me around so that I'm safely in his view, head propped up on his chest now. I don't try to move away. It's just Gilbert._

"_Oh your face will be fine," I scold, settling into a comfortable depression between pectoral and rib. _

_I can practically feel Gilbert rolling his red eyes at the heavens. I glance upward too, but it's at the Tree. The start of summer, while birthing our "freedom" also birthed the tiny green beginnings of apples. Years ago, in the fall, Gil and I would come here after school and see how long we could lie under these very branches without being pegged by fruit. Whoever got hit first was the loser, and they had to carry both backpacks to Gilbert's house, the official destination for food. A laugh softly shakes me at the memory._

"_What's so funny?"_

"_I'm just remembering how many times you lost the Apple Game," I reply cheekily, earning a light shove from my [best] friend._

"_If I remember correctly-"_

"_Which I'm sure you don't."_

"_If I remember correctly," Gilbert growls, clamping a hand over my mouth to silence me, "it was you who always lost! I just had to carry home the backpacks because you would beat me with that damn pan you lugged around everywhere!"_

"_Oh yeah! I remember that pan! You hated it!"_

"_Of course I hated that thing! It hurt like hell! And you cheated!"_

"_Oh, you were a baby then, and you're a baby now!"_

"_I am not!"_

"_You so are."_

"_Am not!"_

"_So are."_

"_Not!"_

"_Are."_

"_Not!"_

"_Are!" For emphasis I punch him in the stomach. He grunts in a very manly, dignified manner, if manly and dignified sounds like a choking squirrel. _

"_Ow."_

"_Love you."_

"_Hate you."_

_I grin again, though this time with melancholy. The bittersweet feelings erode the happier ones. "I can't believe we're high school graduates," I whisper._

_I feel Gilbert nod under me. "Ja, me neither. I might actually miss your Hungarian she-man ass, you know."_

_My heart constricts. I really will miss Gilbert and his blustering, grudging displays of love, no matter how convoluted and insulting. "Oh please, I'll come visit you at your fast food kingdom. Do you think your cousin will let you name it Prussia?"_

"_Nein," Gilbert laughs. "But," he continues, tone growing serious, "I don't think you'll be able to visit me at my job, Liz."_

"_What? Why not? Are you working under a rock?"_

"_Ha, nein, but it's just kind of an off the radar thing, you know?"_

_I remain silent for a minute. "You're working for the government, and you're letting Toni and Francis in on it? I'm hurt."_

_A full blown howl of laughter resonates through Gil's chest. _

"_What? What's so funny?"_

"_N-nothing," he chokes out, gasping for breath._

"_Something," I push stubbornly._

"_I'm not going to be working for the government, Liz. Neither are Toni and Francy Pants."_

"_Oh." I think a moment, still bemused. "The Mafia then? That seems more up your guys' alley." This time it's meant to be a joke, but Gil doesn't laugh._

"_Something like that," he mutters finally, brushing a pariah piece of hair from my face._

_I pester him for a while, even threatening to dig the pan out of storage, but he doesn't elaborate. He simply waves it off, saying he'll send a picture of the Incredible Fast Food Kingdom of Prussia (and the Smaller Provinces of Spain and France) to me when he becomes manager. Not for the first time in our lives, I honestly don't believe the albino._

_Maybe he _would_ make a good Mafia member, come to think._

_...**.**_

Gripping his hand in obvious discomfort, Xi faces me. His eyes narrow viciously. "If he had told us that European scum are really the living dead, I would not have come tonight."

A bark-like laugh cuts from my throat. "I'm no zombie."

"So Im Yong is just a failure then."

I nod briskly. "A dead failure."

Xi's eyes take on an unbridled horror, even while the rest of him remains impassive. "You killed him."

I nod slightly, confirming this morbidity. "He is dead."

"Instead of you," Xi murmurs.

"What the fuck? Hungary, what the fuck-"

"Shut up, Romano. He isn't the only one."

"Fine," Lovi grumbles, using Antonio to push himself upright.

Shifting his support for his lover to the opposite side, Tonio turns to Xi. "Wha-?"

But before either Antonio or I can blink, Xi turns and flees, deeper into the maze. Lovi swears loudly. "Fucking dammit!"

I jog over to the two, glancing nervously at Lovi's side. His shirt is slowly soaking through with heavy red. "Romano, are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing happened, I'm fucking fine!" he snarls, upping the pressure on his side, the knuckles on his hand becoming paler. "...But thank you for calling me Romano," he grumbles as an obvious after thought. "And not fucking 'Tomate'. Who calls their crime partner 'tomato'! It's fucking ridiculous, dammit! It's demeaning, and fuck-"

A soft smile graces my lips as Tonio cuts Lovi off mid-rant with a kiss. Lovi stiffens in surprise, but it takes him less than two seconds to respond. Antonio pulls away softly, mumbling nothings into Lovino's ear and stroking circles across his palm. I wrap my arms around myself, remembering Roderich, and how he would never do that with me in public. Gilbert comes closer to doing that with me than Roderich ever did. Gilbert. I tighten the hold around myself miserably. As Lovi and Toni become obviously closer, Gil and I are just pulling away. I know we are, damn, I've know him for so long, I know everything about him. And he's obviously growing tired. But tired of what? Me? This life? I shiver, rocking back and forth slightly. Stupid dick-

"Hungary."

My attention snaps back to the situation at hand. Lovi is upright and capable while Tonio looks at me expectantly. "Ja. Let's go. Romano?"

Lovi nods curtly, and takes the lead, heading off in the direction of the Asian man. We follow the volatile Italian for several minutes, me falling towards the back, while Tonio and Lovi exchange whispers ahead of me. Lovi halts and crouches low.

"Bastardo." Antonio glances forward. "We found Potato Bastard Number 2."

I gasp. "Prussia!"

Lovi nods, slowly. "But you're not going to like this, Hungary."

"What? Why?"

Lovi points wordlessly. I quickly push the anxious Tonio out of the way, fighting to see what Lovi does. He was right, I don't like it.

"What is it, querido?" Antonio asks, poking Lovi's spine.

"We also found that Chinese bastard."

Antonio sucks in his breath. "And Prussia?"

"He's okay... for now. Oh, wait, he's got a gun pressed to his head, never fucking mind."

From what I can see, as difficult as it is with Toni shoving his curly head into my mouth, Xi's talking. Gilbert responds. I curse quietly. "We're too far away to hear them!"

"I know," Lovi mutters.

Our collective gaze drifts back to Gilbert. Xi looks thoroughly ticked off. Gil begins to laugh, sparingly at first, but then his body starts rocking backwards and forwards, as roars his head off, easily throwing Xi's aim with sporadic movements. Imperceptibly, his hand moves nearer his waistband. Xi sees it. Barely moving (or so it seems, I know how much strength the move takes) his leg arches up, and knocks Gil to the side. I wince as my partner hits the dirt heavily, landing like a sack of potatoes. That's when my alarm bells go off. Something's wrong with him.

Lovi hisses and starts to stand, but I put a hand out to stop further progress.

"Nem, I'll go. Spain, stay here with Romano."

"**What**?" Lovi snaps, while Antonio nods agreeably. "I'm not a fucking invalid!"

I raise an eyebrow. "You kind of are."

Lovi splutters for a moment, before finally huffing and falling silent. "Fine. We'll keep watch, then."

I nod. "You get my back."

"Of course."

I spare a brief smile before merging with the shadows and creeping forwards. Gil's propped against some boxes, leaning against them at an angle. It's his side that's fucked up, then.

"You're not getting that shit out of me, dick," Gil snaps, shifting slightly and moving the barrel off its target once more. He's being a prick. At this rate, Xi's only getting irritated.

"All you have to do is contact the rest of your team: the men and the girl. Do that for me, and I'll kill you in a less painful way than I have planned."

Gil growls low in his throat. "You don't want her. Or them for that matter. They're all complete idiots."

"Then just call your friend. She deserves to die for murder. Call her, and you'll go free."

Gilbert snorts this time, easily running a hand across his hairline, matted with sweat. The salty drops have rolled down his face, leaving white lines through my bloody hand print. "Oh please. I killed your stupid brother."

I choke slightly. What the hell is he doing?

"Did you?"

"Ja! My partner's too stupid to kill anyone." I grit my teeth, but Gil just keeps it up, like he's relishing the train wreck. "She's such a bitch, I swear to Gott sometimes!" The train's gaining speed. "She's a stupid-," the train is heading towards a cliff, "-talentless-," oh, it's heading over the edge now, "-bitch who needs to get out of this industry and let the rest of us carry on with our lives." And the train has exploded.

My heart plummets. So it is me he's tired of. Anger surges up at my stupid, stupid friend. How dare he? What a fucking idiot. What the fuck is his problem? If he wants me gone, he should say it to my face. Then, at least, I can punch his lights out. How dare he? How dare anyone? Everyone can just go rot in hell. Roderich, Gilbert, they can all fuck themselves. How _dare_ they? How fucking _dare_ he?

Before I realize what I'm doing, my body has carried me across the floor and into the open. Xi turns at the striding of my footsteps, smirking when he sees who it is.

"So she came after-"

I don't let him finish his sentence. My gun has appeared in my hand and effortlessly, I pull the trigger. Xi crumples, clutching his shoulder. But he's not out yet. With deadly efficiency brought on by numb resolution, my left leg comes up and then down, striking him clean across the temple. Without anything more, Xi falls backwards against the dirt, knocked cold from a combat boot to the head.

My gaze shifts blankly to Gilbert. "You're right. I can't kill anyone, can I?"

Gilbert just returns my sadness, nonplussed. "Huh? Anyway, danke Gott, Liz." He stands. In a different state of mind, I might have cared that his gait is far more shaky then good for him. I might have cared that the look he gives me is one of absolute relief. I probably would have cared when he nearly stumbles, trying to get over to me.

Gil seems to notice when no mockery at his failures leave my dry lips. "Lizzie? Are you hurt-"

"Shut the fuck up, Prussia."

His eyes flash in shock, that crimson spark flying from the depths. "What-?"

I cut him off, turning and moving soundlessly away. I barely register the four attempts at catching my sleeve. A part of me knows it's because he's hurt. He's weak and wounded, and he needs attention. He needs someone to hand him some Advil and tell him to grow a pair. But I don't give him either the drugs or the "encouragement".

Finally, his fingers latch onto my sleeve.

"Fucking dammit, Lizzie, what the hell?"

"Let go."

"Nein! Not until you tell me what your problem is!"

"Let me go. We have a mission to complete, ja?"

"I- Elizaveta!"

I don't stop, I don't slow down my pace. In all honesty, I think I pick it up. Why does he still use my name like that? Why doesn't he shun me or yell at me or say those terrible things to my face? "Get yourself together, Prussia."

In a novel burst of strength, Gilbert spins me around. The action is so familiar, it makes me want to spit in his face. Anything to get that_ expression_ to disappear. That devilish smirk, the one with the hint of concern shining in the eyes and the slight bite of the lip. "Lizzie. What's your issue?"

"Those things you said about me-"

Gilbert laughs, releasing me, relief driving his rapidly morphing expression. "For a second I thought you actually had a valid argument. I was just protecting you!"

"I don't need protecting unless there's a gun at my temple... you know, like there was yours. You should remember that."

Gilbert lets that condescending leer in now. "Seriously? What, are your feelings hurt, or something?"

"Igen, Gilbert, actually they are. Sorry if your idiotic brain isn't able to process that emotion. I know it must be hard what with all those brain cells on life support."

"You're seriously mad over something so stupid?" He shakes his head in disbelief.

"Stupid. Ja," I snort, masochism rearing its little scaly black head.

"I'm serious," he growls, "you're such a girl, sometimes, I swear-"

"To what? Gott? I've heard you do," I snap, allowing both the hot-head and masochism in me talk. I don't even take a moment to consider the repercussions. This is Gilbert and I. We live off of pain. The burn of the flame, the bite of the sword, the crushing of the bullet. Pain is our food, and we feed each other.

"Hungary-" The formality only deepens the hole in my heart, but I don't turn my face away. Let him say it directly to me. "You're a world class bitch, you know that?"

I bristle, the burning fires shriveling the depression into ash. "Ja, I do, Prussia. Enjoy finding yourself another partner, asshole."

"Wait, what?" he asks, astounded. "Seriously? Gott! Get a hold of yourself, woman, and grow up already! We're not five! You can't go swinging that verdammt pan anymore to get what you want, and you can't swing around meaningless shit to get responses out of people!"

"I'M NOT! What the hell was all that stuff you said about me, huh?"

"I was trying to draw his attention off of you!"

I can't help the incredulous face these words draw up. "So none of that bullshit was true? It was all just bullshit? Yeah right, Gil. There's been something weird with you lately, you know. I'm starting to think it's me."

"It is you! There's nothing weird-"

"Nem. I mean it's me that's making you weird. If you don't want me here, then just say it!"

He swallows the retort he already had poisoned and ready at the tip of his tongue. He doesn't want to say anything.

"So I'm right."

"Nein, you're never right she-man."

I snarl. "I was right when I followed your slimy ass into this profession in the first place! I thought something was a little off that day under the Tree! Do you even remember that?"

A derisive snort cuts through the air. "Ja, I remember you being just as much of a bitch as you are now."

"Of course that's all you remember," I scowl, feeling my aura drop into darkness with every word coming out of his stupid, stupid mouth. "Look, I just saved your sorry ass, and you can't even tell me you would rather us part ways."

"'Rather us part ways'? What kind of flowery shit is that, Little Lizzie? Looks like Roderich has rubbed off on you more than we thought, doesn't it?"

"You are not bringing him into this, Gilbert. Don't you dare; this has nothing to do with him."

"Still protecting the aristocrat. I remember that we talked about your stupid priss school under the Tree, Lizzie. You honestly thought it was _normal_," Gilbert jeers, crossing his arms. "You know what? At the time, I thought that school was all wrong for you, just like I thought Roderich was all wrong for you. My priss of a cousin? Nein, danke, I thought. Nein, danke is what Liz'll say. But you didn't. And now I finally understand. You and him were _made_ for each other. Two stuck-up losers, the bitch and the dick. How sweet."

My fists tremble as I carefully hold myself back from punching Gil's lights out. "You ignorant idiot."

Gil laughs at my fury, red eyes flashing with his own. "Nein, Hungary, I don't think so. I think I finally see. You're a bitch, you always have been, and you're only holding me back."

I smirk, coldly, numbly, without feeling. "Köszönöm." The words part with my lips like skin parts from ice.

"For what?"

"For finally saying it, Prussia."

There are certain things one must do in order to survive. Pretending is one of them. The house of pretend is held up by the frailest of structures, supports made of sand, roof made of thread. One wrong move and the whole thing comes tumbling down around you, suffocating you in your own shame.

When I walk away after punching Gilbert, I don't look back. I can't suffocate now.

We're finished here.

* * *

><p><strong>Alfred POV – 10:50 PM<strong>

When an opportunity presents itself, it's always the grand scheme of things to imagine you're gonna be the bad ass hero, right? That idea gradually forms into words and stuff. You say to your homies, "Yeah man, obviously, what kind of pussy can't shoot someone in the face? I know I could, bro." All the while, it never really crosses your mind that you might, one day, be in a situation that forces you to kill the comfort zone and pull the trigger.

The first time it happened to me, I was seventeen. The man, no the boy, was way younger than me, some unlucky punk who decided to pick that night to get pounded by a bunch of teenagers. He was a walking stick that had a spiky tuft of blond hair shooting off his head, and my only thought was that he reminded me of my little brother. I'm one hundred percent positive it was me who dealt the final blow, and fuck, I was frickin' young, and it scared the shit out of me. I didn't fucking want to be an illegal bastard! I was the starting quarterback of the team that was going to nationals in the spring. I had training, I had a girlfriend, _fuck _I had a _life_. But inevitably, that nagging little voice poked into the back of my mind. _He had a life too, _it said.

Basically, I stood there like an idiot and didn't do jack. We all were huddled around the kid, each of us silently waiting for the snotnose to _just stand up for Godssake! _But he didn't. He kept on lying there, sprawled weirdly across the alley and looking like he just ran into a glass door, or something. Some smart ass decided to boot the guy in the head. We all laughed. What else could we do? Punch somebody else in the face? Get in another fight? Kill another guy? Not on our bucket list, bucket lists that were steadily warping as our imaginations did. Jail, prison, probation, the list grew longer as the days wore on.

This life started when I swung one too many times. And here I am again, not able to do jack, as this beautiful woman aims her .357 Magnum gun at my head. Fuck my life. Oh wait, life's already fucking me.

"At least tell me your name, then?"

"Nyet."

"Please?"

"Nyet."

"Please?"

"Nyet."

I sigh, defeated. My arms are burning from hanging this long. Any minute now I'll be splattered all over the floor. I really don't think these things through, do I? God, I can hear Arthur now. "You bloody git, what gave you the sodding idea to go roof-surfing?" Then I'll say something like, "Roof-surfing? Really Art?" And then Peter'll go "Sweet, I wanna roof-surf!", and Mattie will be making those weird little squeaky noises in the background like he does.

"How many minutes?"

She looks up at the question, one I didn't actually mean to ask... Oh well. "Minutes?"

"Yeah, like how long've I been up 'ere?"

"Seventeen minutes."

"Good enough for me."

The look she gives me is priceless. I get a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye as I fall. Part of it is unconcealed shock. A shock that says, "Well, this takes care of things, I guess, but honestly, is your head full of **shit**?" I would tell her, "yeah, a lot of people think so, wanna join the club?" But my voice is broken. Another part of the look is confusion. Like, "Is it just this guy, me, or all Americans?" I would laugh, but it's harder than I imagined, with gallons of air rushing into your lungs. Is it possible to drown in air? The third part of her look, is pain. Pain that says, "Nyet, you stupid American, how could you do this to _yourself_?"

Hitting the ground is in some ways a lot more painful than I thought it would be, and in others, a lot less so. For start, I was expecting to be gasping for breath like after downing a cup of Art's tea. Only, I can breath perfectly fine. It's my arm that hurts like hell. I don't think it's broken... just kinda crushed? I sit up, my head ringing, and glance around. That frickin gun is still pointed at my head. God damn.

"Черт, вы живы."

"I know! That's so cool! And here I was all worried that I might break something!"

"... Your arm _is _broken."

"Wha? Naw, it's just crushed, see?" I hold it out to her, momentarily forgetting the gun between us.

Her eyes narrow. "Fool. Now it's time to die." Yeah, and back to remembering. With a sigh, I hop to my feet, meandering nearer, glancing unassumingly at a fly buzzing around her head. "Stop!"

I smile sweetly. "You're gonna have to shoot me, doll."

"I won't hesitate."

I lean into her personal space, breathing softly against her neck. "You're hesitating right now."

"I'm not-"

"Natalya."

I whirl, subtly putting myself between the girl -_Natalya- _and the encroacher.

"Toris. Why are you here? Brother did not send you, did he?" Natalya asks crisply, and with a pang, I realize she's not behind me anymore. When did that happen?

Toris steps into the light, tilting both chin and gun up as he does. "He said only a fool lets his dog bite him twice."

The muscles in Natalya's back stiffen. "I have proved my loyalty more than once-"

Toris gestures briefly in my direction. "A-and he's a prime example, I suppose."

"I do not believe I interpret your words correctly."

"You haven't killed him yet."

"I-"

"I'm rather hard to kill, you know," I say with a smile, breezing between the two. "And in my most humble opinion, the fool is one who can't trust the people closest to him."

I hear Toris before Natalya does, and I register the situation before either of them. And they say Americans are slow. Pfft.

Toris wins points for being the trigger-happy one of the two. I can't say the ensuing events make up the fastest seconds of my life, but they hit top ten. Both Natalya and Toris are moving, both to finish me off, but whatever. Heroes don't focus on the little unimportant stuff. Toris shoots from his position across the clearing in the forest of shit while Natalya turns to face me. She's a better closed door than open door. Unfortunately.

So I shove her out of the way.

I'm not sure what hurts more; the broken arm with the knife wound, or the arm with the bullet in it.

"Wha- You dirty American scum, you-"

"Just got in the way of a bullet for you, yes, thank you for pointing it out," I grumble, flexing my hands experimentally. Yeah, it hurts. It hurts worse than Vegemite. And Vegemite_ burns_.

I finally slide my eyes to the Russian's. She's regarding me carefully, calculatingly. I don't smile for her; I'm afraid it'll distract her scrutinizing. Then, the briefest of nods in my direction.

Toris hisses low in his throat. "Natalya! Lets go, I have no more bullets," he barks, throwing his gun on the ground.

"We cannot leave this unfinished, Brother will-"

"Lets. Go."

With barely a backwards glance, Natalya sprints past me, cursing in Russian all the way. Toris waits until she's joined him, before beginning to turn and follow, but in the last second, his eyes seek out mine, and some kind of mental message tries to force its way through my brain. After a moment, Toris gives up and follows Natalya. When the silence finally settles, I let the mega-watt smile light up my features. _She sort of nodded at me. YES. _But wait... Art's gonna kill me. And holding him at arms length is gonna hurt. _Shit._

I bend down to pick up Toris' gun, weighing it my palms. It's not a bad gun, actually. A bit heavy, though. I pop out the magazine, and sure enough, I was right. It's one shy of being fully loaded. Out of bullets my ass.

* * *

><p><strong>::AN::**

**So better job on Alfred? I tried to lighten him up a bit.**

**Also, I have no idea when this'll next update :/ but I can tell all of you that on my profile I'm doing occasional updates on the status of this story. I'm not sure if any of you have seen that yet, but it's there~ So that's where I'll be letting you all know what the outlook is.**

**Translations:**

**Köszönöm (Hungarian) = Thank you  
><strong>**Basszus (Hungarian) = Shit/Fuck [general term]  
><strong>**Черт, вы живы (Russian) = Damn, you are alive.**

**Thanks everybody! Review? **


	9. Plan Your Bluff

**::A/N:: I don't own Hetalia.**

**I'm posting this again because of some German mistakes ^^; THANK YOU LOTHLORIEN93! What would I do without you?**

**So, short chapter is short. I've been struggling a little lately, so I'm sorry if this is total crap. I had more to this chapter, but it got too long, so I broke it half. Enjoy~**

**Lars = Netherlands**

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><p><strong>Victoire POV<strong>

Tap. Tap. Tap.

11:10

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

11:11

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

11:12

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Chérie."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"_Chérie."_

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"You do not need to tap away the seconds, they are going fast enough."

"They're dead, aren't they? They're all dead."

"Non-"

"SHIT!" I scream, slamming a fist against the wooden table. "On my watch too. _On my watch_."

"Sometimes, there is nothing we can do, chérie."

"It just hurts," I whisper, my voice rising an octave in despair. "I just- I was not ever very nice to Arthur, and now he is gone, oui? It is terribly unfair."

Francis shifts positions and holds out his arms. Like a little girl, I sniffle and plop down in his lap, taking fistfuls of his shirt, and burying my face into his shoulder, discreetly attempting to hide the snot stains slowly spreading there. "Victoire, it is not your fault the line was compromised, non? Try not to beat yourself up over it."

"I just- I just- Anyone could have done that better than me. Even Lars could have managed that situation better!"

"The druggy? I don't think so..."

I hiccup. "Perhaps you're right."

He nods, and his scraggly beard catches on my hair. "Trust me on this one." The 'th' comes out as a 'z', but I hardly notice anymore. With a jolt, I realize the only reason I noticed at all was because of how different he sounds from Arthur's prim British. Arthur who I've killed.

I start in on a new round of crying, not feeling mollified in the least by the painful hiccuping that accompanies it. Francis enshrouds me in arms, cooing a soft French lullaby in my ear. It's sweet of him.

At the sound of footsteps, I quickly reach for a tissue. It slips from between my fingers in a flurry of haste, but Francis grabs it instead and hurriedly wipes away my tears.

A sigh resonates through the room. "Break a nail, love?" a British voice snorts. My heart leaps. I turn to the voice, all too aware of my disarray.

"Why non, Arthur. I was mourning a friend."

He raises one giant eyebrow, the piercing that was there this morning now removed. He's more handsome without it. "Did a twat bite the dust?"

"He almost did," I nod, delicately hopping off of Francis' lap. "I was stricken. He's very special to me."

Arthur's eyes narrow. "Obviously, considering the fact you are all over _that_ frog."

I gape at him. "What?"

"I walk in here and you and the frog are-"

"Hugging, Arthur," Francis cuts in. "Hugging. But of course, I expect you know nothing about the delicate are of l'amour-"

"Oh bloody shut up," Arthur groans, half his attention on us, one eye looking out into the hallway. "Alfred!" he yells. "Get your buttocks in here! If you tell that blasted story about the 'super hot babe who almost shot you' one more bleeding time, I'm going to cut your arm off myself, you ninny!"

"Art!" Alfred's voice sounds reasonably close. "That seriously wouldn't help at all. I mean, really."

"Bloody fool," Arthur mutters, glancing back at me once more.

"Is he all right? In fact, is everyone all right? Gil and Liza and-"

"Yes, thank you, I do know who was there," Arthur grumbles, motioning for me to shut up. "Ludwig said to inform you that the mission was a failure. I assume you realized that from the frantic conversation we shared. You are to go immediately to Vash's office, Frog."

"And I?"

Arthur barely spares me a second look. "You are not to accompany him."

Arthur leaves, yelling something unintelligible to Alfred. Francis walks up to me. His hands are in his pockets, but he removes one to rest it briefly on my shoulder. "Do not fret, chérie. I will inform you of everything that is said."

I nod sharply.

His smile softens. "Arthur would not have come tonight if he didn't wish to see you. Do not let yourself be fooled by that pitiful lack of human emotion."

My nod is a little gentler this time.

* * *

><p><strong>Elizaveta POV<strong>

"We know when."

"Today, duh."

"They were united before then?"

"No, tonight was the first test."

"But they're joining?"

A nod. "Hai, he approached Wang and requested the presence of the organization. I believe it is his desire to increase the size of his own, among other things."

"Why the fuck are we getting this shit now?"

"Excuse me, I do not believe I understand."

"He means, why haven't you mentioned this before?"

"Ah, I see. It did not seem prudent at the time."

"Prudent- Was? Ja, it is all prudent. We have been targets for several assassinations in the past months, Mr. Honda."

"My apologies, Beilschmidt-san."

"Why did you leave?"

"Pardon?"

"Why did you fucking leave the Asian Ring?"

"Excuse me for mishearing, Vargas-san."

"Dude, just answer the question. It's weird when you go in circles like this!"

"I-"

"That's enough."

We turn to meet Vash's command for respect.

"Do we know where?"

"Nein."

"Kiku?"

"No, I left before becoming involved with the new reformation."

"We know what, though?"

"Hai. They are one of the sole networks in Russia. They are definitely the largest. They eliminated all other competition around them."

"The Russian sect is headed by the latest son of the Braginski family."

"First name?"

"Unknown."

"Pourquoi?"

"That family is private. Apparently for good reason. They're wealthy sponsors for several organizations in Russia: ones that abide by the law and ones that don't."

"That's all we know? Just that they're the ones who screwed with us?"

"They didn't just screw with you. They bleeding uprooted my brothers and I.  
>We were part of a connected network between the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada."<p>

"Pity, you were destroyed."

"Shut your trap, frog. We are not destroyed. I have three other brothers in the U.K. at this moment, and we were only some of many."

"I never heard of this 'connected network' before you four waltzed in."

"You wouldn't have, bro. Art was a cop before this, and he hadn't heard neither."

"I have more connections than the police force," Vash replies.

"But we're incredibly silent. I remained on the force during my first several years in the network. I was never suspected."

"You were once."

"I was, and then some other chap got ruined for it. Someone was certainly watching out for me."

"You didn't know who?"

"That was part of the appeal. We only knew a handful of others, and only one or two were actually in our region, for the explicit purpose of contacting for assistance. Each handful made a group-"

Alfred coughs. "Gang."

"-group, and each member only knew the others in this specific group. We had no idea who was actually our friend apart from our ten contacts."

"It was always a difficult proposition, eh? But if each gang can only rat themselves out, no one else was discovered. It was very secret."

"What the hell'd you do?"

"We did what we had to do."

"Descriptive..."

"But if you were so under the radar, then why were you targeted, ve?"

"That is the question. It was no one group, but all of them that were experiencing this disturbance. Several were killed. Britain lost ten, all of which I had never set eyes upon. My brother said Scotland lost four."

"Alberta lost six, but I don't know about anywhere else in Canada

"People kick the bucket in New York all the time. Any or none of those could have been the commies."

"... Racist git."

"What about your people here?"

"Lovi and me."

"Feliciano and I."

"Like, me and Toris."

"Victoire et moi."

"ENGLISH!"

"Lars and myself."

"The awesome me."

"And I," I say curtly, hearing Gilbert's voice echo from the other side of the room.

To my right sits Feliciano, quietly folding a paper crane out of a leaflet boldly proclaiming V.Z. National Bank's new reform policy to satisfy the costumer. One wing of the bird is a little bit deformed towards the edge, while the other is just too small to fit the body at all. Lately Feli's been clinging to both Ludwig _and_ the new Japanese foreigner, Kiku, like glue.

To my left is Alfred, twitching profusely as he tries to remove the canvas sling from his arm without really removing it at all, getting the hairy eyeball from Arthur throughout the entire process. "What?" the American mutters out of the corner of his mouth, "It's really itchy!"

Arthur chooses to ignore this, instead directing his next question towards Vash. "Were _any _of you left untouched?"

"Do not let yourself think that we are that small, Kirkland," Vash grimaces. "However, in the upper partners, only one remains untouched. Or so we assume."

"So you assume?"

"He is currently on the move in Greece. We rarely hear reports. Our novices were untouched."

"It seems like they wanted your attention," Kiku says, hands neatly folded on the table top.

"I agree," I nod, leaning forward to see all of the assembled. "The man that attacked me-"

"Us," Gilbert drawls, carelessly spinning his chair in circles.

"-was not a particularly adept fighter. He was easily taken care of, and far from a threat. He was thrown off by elementary maneuvers."

"As was the man who attacked us. Victoire easily killed him. In fact," Francis purrs, sweeping his hair back from his face, "his gun had no bullets at all."

Vash raises an eyebrow at that. 'Was it the same for the rest of you?"

Ludwig just shrugs, "Car chase."

Gilbert grunts assent. "Burned him. Didn't check the gun."

"Did any of you check the gun?" A collection of denials fills the conference room, which slowly seems to constrict around us as Vash's eyes narrow. "What the hell do I pay you for?"

"For being awesome-"

"Shut up, Gilbert," Vash sighs, tapping his fingers against the table top.

"So what now?"

I glance up to Antonio. His eyes are troubled, and I move my gaze along the row to see similar expressions in all the faces of these colleagues of mine. Colleagues? Is that the right word? Perhaps not. Friends? I don't- Maybe. Either way, there have never been so many faces alight with such insecurity in our own territory before.

The novelty in the nature of such fear boils over into a curdling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Someone needs to kill this Braginski and put us out of our misery.

"Elizaveta?"

"Someone needs to go."

"Was?"

"Someone needs to go to the Braginski house."

Lovino narrows his eyes. "And how the fuck do you expect to achieve that? Should we just _waltz_ up to the bastard's house and knock on his door? Sell some fucking cookies while we're at it?"

"I'm saying we need a double agent."

Alfred laughs. "Sweet! Like in the movies!"

I raise an eyebrow at the boisterous American and match every other expression in the room. "Ja..."

Gilbert rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot."

"Like you're one to talk!" I snort.

Gilbert rises from his seat, looking like the baited animal I want him to be. "Fuck ja-"

Ludwig's large hand falls heavily on Gilbert's shoulder, successfully pushing him back down. "Nein, Bruder. Save it."

Gilbert grumbles something intelligible.

"_Save it, Bruder._"

"Fine! Fucking bitch-"

I slam my hands onto the table, rise to my full height, and lean forward, creating a curtain of hair for Vash's disapproving eyes. "Sagst du das? Du dumme Scheiße," I hiss, low enough so that any other German speakers except the one directly in front of me can't hear.

"I sage auf dich was ich will, kleine Lizzie."

"Nem, ass hole." I slip back into my seat, aware of all the stares. Seamlessly, I slip to a different language, a more private one. "Ezt még nagyon megbánod."

"Nem."

I growl low. Gilbert just smirks.

"Are you two done?"

"Ja Vash. Whenever you want to continue with your truly moving speech, be my guest. I mean, just look at all the _awesome accomplishments_ we've made in the last few hours," Gilbert drawls, kicking his legs up onto the table top, combat boots surely scraping all over the polish. "How many times have you repeated the same conversation? Vierzig? Is that a new record? Congrats, cousin. You manage to find more and more ways to creatively _bore_ us."

"Get out, Gilbert."

The man in question gives a languid stretch, cracking both arms. "The awesome me is out. Peace." He hops to his feet and saunters by us, passing through my line of vision without so much as a glance. I hear him kick the door open, momentarily exposing us to the mundane world, before it angrily snaps shut behind him. Only when the lock clicks into place does Vash stand and address us once more.

"The rest of you better be able to grasp the severity of our situation, and if not, feel free to join Beilschmidt. Braginski is targeting us. We don't know why, and that makes his motives dangerous. We're either a threat, or we have something he wants. By the nature of these attacks, I'd say both. They only attacked us when we were unaware and alone. This can't continue, or we'll start to lose people. They have reason to even the score, if Gilbert really did finish one of theirs. Now, Eliza's idea may work..., but we'd need to come into contact with them somehow."

"Excuse me!" The door slams open. Immediately, everyone in the room tenses. I turn warily. The intruder's eyes are bright, their hair escaping from the red ribbons in their pig tails. I relax.

"Victoire?"

"Oui, oui, c'est moi! I have information that is imperative-"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Francis tries to step in. "Vash, she is just leaving!"

The girl turns with exasperation. "Non, je ne suis pas! I am here with information you _want, _Vash!"

Vash's eyes narrow, calculating her ears and her mouth and their danger to our cause. He gives a nod.

Victoire breaths out in relief. I send a little smile of encouragement, and discreetly put both thumbs up. "Merci. Tonight, at 22:41, Kirkland's call was intercepted by an unknown source."

"Is this true?" Vash asks, turning to Francis.

"Oui."

"Continue."

"D'accord. Francis and I realized the line had been tapped, but we didn't know by who. I just tried to trace the call back, and it turned out the electronic waves became muddled-"

"That means nothing to us."

"Je sais. I realized, however, that the signal was on a bigger scale than just us. Whoever was working the other end was either really careless, or displeased. It muddled with a radio station nearby. I tracked the signal through there. We can reverse the signal and communicate back."

Francis gives a little whoop, and sweeps Victoire into a hug. She blushes happily.

Vash, on the other hand, betrays no emotion whatsoever. He simply nods, and gestures to the door. "Get to it, then."

"Of course." Victoire disentangles herself from Francis (a practiced feat) and slips from the room.

Vash waits once more until the door is securely locked. "Anything else of importance?"

Alfred sits up a little straighter. "I almost got shot by this super hot babe-"

Arthur lets out a loud groan, forcibly cutting off the undoubtedly stupid conclusion to that sentence. "Don't, you insufferable git."

"But there was this other guy there too! Thomas, or Tony, or something," Alfred cries. We all freeze.

"What was it?"

"Uh, Tony? Nah, maybe Tory? Something like that," he shrugs, waiting to see if this information is helpful.

Feliks, who had been almost entirely silent throughout, speaks up nervously, a quaver to his voice. "Could it have been 'Toris'?"

"Toris? Yeah, actually," Alfred nods slowly, obviously giving it a lot of thought. "Yeah!" He slams his fist down against the table. "It was definitely Toris, dudes."

I snap my gaze to Feliks, my heart pounding for him. He doesn't jump out of his chair for joy, nor does he throw a tantrum. He doesn't smile or cry, or show any emotion at all. He simply says, "I'll go. I'll go to Russia."

It's what I expected, deep down. I wanted one of the more emotional responses, one of the more immature responses, one of the _safer _responses, but I expected the right response all along.

And suddenly, my mind is on overdrive, analyzing, processing, deciding. I barely register the next drawn out ten minutes of discussion. When Vash finally gives his permission, and the others begin to file out, all I can do is grin at the fortune this spontaneous chaos brought because for the first time in a while, my next move is my prerogative alone.

* * *

><p><strong>::AN:: ****Review~**

**Translations:  
>Victoire et moi (French) = Victoire and me<br>Was (German) = What  
>Sagst du das? Du dumme Scheiße! (German) = You say that? You stupid shit.<br>I sage auf dich was ich will, kleine Lizzie (German) = I say what I want about you, Little Lizzie  
>Ezt még nagyon megbánod (Hungarian) = You will regret this<br>Vierzig (German) = Forty  
>Oui, oui, c'est moi! (French) = Yes, yes, it's me!<br>Non, je ne suis pas, Francis! (French) = No, I am not, Francis!  
>Je sais (French) = I know.<strong>


	10. Now Play It

**::A/N::**

**Okay, well, looks who's on a roll! /shot. The last chappy was awfully short, and kind of crap, but it WAS necessary. This is kind of the beginning to the twists. I know I've taken a long time in arriving here, please forgive me :(**

**Read and Review~**

* * *

><p><strong>Gilbert POV<strong>

Vash is an ass to kick me out of the damn meeting. It's not as though I _wanted _to be in there to begin with, but being _forced _out? Not awesome.

So I _decide_, by myself, to linger and wait for everybody to emerge. But when five minutes have passed, and the only person to emerge is Victoire, I decide to save some face and go hit up the bar for pre-dinner beer... only to come to realize that it has been invaded by minors. Little fuckers. Obviously, the awesome me does not set bad examples, so I don't swipe beer in front of Lily and Peter. When I politely ask them why the _bar _is their little base of operations, they say it's for the soda. God damn them, go find a vending machine!

So when everyone begins filing out of the conference room, I'm waiting moodily, dignity thrown to the wind, for Bruder to emerge. Of course he's the first one out. He lets out a hefty sigh through his nose when he sees the welcoming committee. Oh fuck him.

"Bruder, what are you doing?"

"Sitting, West. Now don't you have little boyfriend to take care of?" I remark snidely, forgetting the reason why I wanted to see him to begin with.

Feli pops out from behind Lud like magic, his normally confused expression in place. "You have a boyfriend, Ludi?"

I snicker at the nickname, much to Lud's vexation. "Lets go, Feliciano," he rumbles, embarrassed.

Lovi explodes out next, flanked by his good friends Annoyance and Impatience. Poor Toni is hitched to the bandwagon. I don't try to get a word through to my Spanish friend. He's just lucky he's from the country of bull-fighters, because I've never seen a man with larger horns than Lovino Vargas...

The last to leave, but the third to acknowledge me, is Francis. He breezes to my side when he sees me, practically gushing invisible rainbows. I don't ask.

"Mon ami, you are looking lonely," he cries, once the twenty awkward seconds of silence have elapsed in which he wanted an inquiry and I didn't deliver.

"No shit, Franny."

"You wound me."

"Ja, ja, where's Liz?"

"Aren't you two fighting?"

"Gah, well, nein, but, fuck, gawk, GILBIRD- dammit!" I splutter, mouth refusing to correctly spew my awesome lies.

"Ohonhon," Francis snickers. "Very smooth." Gott, friends suck. "Well, she's sitting with Vash, I believe."

My heart jumps in surprise. "What? Why?"

"Ow should I know? It looked important, so I am sure you will screw it up fantastically."

"Thanks for the moral support," I grumble, standing.

"Of course, Gilbo~"

When his ridiculous hair finally wafts away, I turn my attention to the conference room, passing by any sort of "planning" stage and moving directly onto the "action" stage. Mr. Awesome you have passed Go!, feel free to collect 200 quid. For some reason, Liz is still in there, and it's time to find out why. Shoving my face into the incriminating is a talent.

The heavy, thick-framed oaken door opens without so much as a squeak from old screws binding old wood. I peep in, kind of wishing I had my awesome pet bird from when I was a child. Gilbird was such an awesome little minion...

After a moment, I establish that the room is empty. A loneliness has settled upon it, like it's missing what makes it whole: us.

I do one more sweeping glance before having no other doubts. It means Liz and Vash are in only one place: the awkward closet.

It's only the awkward closet because _somebody _spilled coffee all over the blue prints for this building and lost spacial conception in the process. It's twice as large as the conference room and more beautiful; its northern wall is all window, and it looks out onto Berne, even if Berne can't look in. Mirrored glass, or something. Did Liza tell me at one point? Oh... nein, I don't remember.

Either way it's Vash's favorite room, and I take care to remember that as I curl my tapered fingers around the silver doorknob, and push it ever so slightly inwards. Immediately the spell of silence is broken.

"You are certain?" Vash asks, vague interest coloring his tone. Through the crack in the door, I can see the right half of his face, and the back of Liz's chestnut head.

"Igen."

"You have thought this through?"

"Enough."

He nods, slipping something away into his pocket. "Then Auf Wiedersehen, Elizaveta."

I stumble back in shock.

"Auf Wiedersehen."

The door shuts with a soft click.

* * *

><p>After five minutes of repetitive knocking, and an equal amount of denial, she stands before me in all her fury. The moment acts as a briefest of windows into her life, and I take full advantage of it, scoping the room for signs of what I dread most. I find them everywhere. Her suitcase is open on the quilt and half filled. What isn't being crammed into its inner-most recesses is haphazardly strewn across the bed. My eyes slide to her face and it's dead set. My heart sinks. "So that's it?"<p>

"What are you talking about?" she growls, walking away from her door frame as if she could care less whether I come or go.

"I know you're leaving."

She doesn't even look up at the accusation. "You were hardly silent; still an intruding imbecile."

I lean against the wall, watching her muscles move beneath the paper thin shirt as she continues to collect belongings. It always amazes me how fast women unpack. "Still a bitch."

"Mature. Look, I'm busy, why don't you just leave so I can finish."

It isn't a suggestion, but a cordial demand, so I stay. "Nah, I'm good."

A book crashes into the wall next to my head. "Leave."

Instead, I bend down to pick it. "Ah, still into 'yaoi', I see." At the instigation, a perfume bottle explodes above me, raining down on my back. I return the creepy picture book to Liz's bed and grimace as the smell of artificial apples in abundance charging into my naval passages and invading my very soul.

_..._

_I kick the apple brutally, bruising the stupid thing and sending it rolling across the faintly brown grass until the fruit disappears over the brink of the hill. On its journey, it almost runs over a daisy, but misses in the last second, probably hitting a pebble and taking a left instead, quickly vanishing. I don't bother following it. Instead I flop across the ground, scuffing my sneaker into the dusty dirt by the roots of the giant tree._

"_Life's stupid," I grumble to the tree._

"_Oh man up!"_

_Surprised, I jump to my feet, frantically scrutinizing this talking tree. I'm about to give it a mighty kick, and tell it to shut up, until I get nailed in the face with the very same apple I just booted. "OW! That hurt, stupid tree!"_

"_'Stupid tree'? You hit _me_ in the head."_

"_What?" I whirl to see a cross looking boy glowering at me from the crest of the hill. Relieved that the tree didn't actually speak, I retort, "That doesn't even make sense! It _rolled _away!"_

"_Y__eah and into my head," the strange boy says, plopping down several feet off. He has shoulder length brown hair, but he's pulled it back into a girly pony tail, leaving some runaway pieces around his pale face. His eyes are a bright sparkling green, contrasting the funny splotches of brown across his nose and cheek bones. As he settles in the grass, he adjusts the ratty green tee shirt hanging off his frame and rolls up the cuffs of his already too-short jeans._

**"**_So... who are you?" I ask finally, when the weird boy doesn't make any move toward conversation. He's being unawesome and awkward-making._

_"None of your business__."_

_"I'm awesome! Everything's my business!__"_

_"I'm sure that's what your mommy tells you.__"_

_I glower. __"__Y__ou're annoying."_

_"You're more annoying."_

_"Nuh-uh! I was here first and you invaded! That makes you more annoying."_

_"Yeah, well I wanted to come here first, so you're more annoying."_

_"Nein, I wanted to come here first!"_

_"Well I thought about it first!"_

_"I- I- I WAS HERE FIRST!"_

_The boy glares at me before turning around to stare at the daisy, the one I almost murdered, but didn't. His eyes linger on it a moment more, then he picks it._

"_Kesesesese-"_

_He looks at me in mild concern, spinning the plant between two fingers. "Are you choking?"_

_"Wha- Nein! That's my awesome laugh! Isn't it awesome?"_

_"..."_

_"Well, you know what's unawesome? Men picking flowers! Kesesesesese!"_

_His eyes narrow into two identical fiery green spearheads. "Look, creepy albino guy, my mother used to say 'when something beautiful comes into your life, don't let it walk out'. So budge off."_

_"Flowers can't walk."_

_"You're an idiot."_

_"Nein, you're an idiot. Flowers obviously don't have feet! You need feet to walk, stupid!"_

_"It's meta- meter- metaphor- metaphorincnal!" the boy finally accentuates, beaming at his pronunciation of the word._

_"Meta-what-incnal?" I ask._

_"Meta- meta- OH WHATEVER, you're stupid."_

_"I am not!"_

_"You are so!"_

_"I am not!"_

_"Are so!"_

_"Poke."_

_"What?"_

_"Poke!"_

_"Are you air poking me?" he questions astounded, disbelief evident as the daisy lies forgotten._

_"Ja. Whatcha gonna do about it, huh?"_

_He regards me for a moment, adding up luck, chance, and dividing by strength. Then he stands, walks the four feet between us and shoves me into the grass. "Poke you."_

_I gasp dramatically. "That was a shove!"_

_"Yup, whatcha gonna do about it?" he grins._

_I contemplate this mystery boy for a minute, astounded, as only a child can be, at the marks he's already made on my life: the apple juice on my forehead, the grass in my hair. Finally: "My name's Gilbert."_

_"I'm Eli." He holds out a little hand and pulls me to my feet._

_"Awesome."_

_"Igen."_

_"What kind of language is that?"_

_"It's Hungarian, stupid."_

_"Oh. I'm German."_

_"You're not Albino?"_

_"That's not a type of person."_

_He looks mildly put out. "Well, it is now."_

_"Awesome."_

_"Is that all you say?"_

_I beam. "Well, it is now."_

_Eli laughs softly. "You know, Gilbert, you and your weird eyes are okay."_

_I feel my face heat up. "Ja, well, you're eyes are girly, Eli."_

_THWACK._

"_Quit throwing__ apples!" I bellow, clinging to my bleeding nose, once again sprawled in the grass._

_..._

Little Eli was lucky. Flowers _can't _walk out of your life, but people can, and my heart is slowly failing as Liz throws the last of her things into the duffel, officially wiping herself from the room. She wipes her hands on the legs of her jeans in finality, wrenching the canvas bag off the bed. I want her to turn and look at me. I want her to _look _at me. She does finally, seeming like she's surprised at my presence. Is she honestly surprised I'm still here with her?

"Why?" The words are hoarser than I intended. They sound _weak_.

"Why what?"

"Why are you leaving?"

"I need to go."

"Nein, you don't. You can stay here-"

"I can, but I don't want to."

I flinch. "Where?"

"This won't stop me from going."

"_Was_?"

"Nothing you say will make a difference. It never does."

I snarl, "This is fucked up! You're fucked up!"

"This is **my** choice. Leave well enough alone."

"Nein! This-"

"Is my choice!" she reiterates, fists clenching.

I close my mouth sharply at the sight of her shining eyes. "Liz-"

"Nem."

"Liz-" Please Liz. Please look at me and _understand_.

"I need to go now, or I'll miss my train."

"Say my name."

"What?"

"Say my name. You haven't said it once. Say it." For me. "And take this." My body begins pulling the strings, forcing my brain to be quiet, and it reaches over my head and removes my iron cross. I watch my hands drop it over her neck before she can object.

She looks down, taking in this new aspect of her appearance, before visibly cringing away from it. "I have to go _now_, Prussia."

I don't let go of the chain, frozen by her eyes, her beautiful green spearheads. I wait for her to pull away, to hurt me, to _leave_, but she doesn't. She simply watches me, and before I know it, my body's acting on its own again.

When our lips meet... it's like everything I ever thought it would be with her. Rough, angry, sad, untamed, and fucking passionate. It's the worst feeling as her teeth dig into my bottom lip, to know that this is more than some skank at the bar. This is Elizaveta, and she's dangerous. My fingers dig into her sculpted hip bones because I'm going to fucking hold her here for the rest of our lives. Her throat loses a little breathy noise, and my tongue takes use of the high ground. She surrenders, a half-hearted one when her fingers yank on my hair. My body is screaming that this is what it needs, but eventually, the kiss ends, and I pull away to breathe, wishing I didn't have to. I know she's going to leave now. She'll vanish, and brand another painful memory between us.

"I have to go."

It's final, and I nod my head, feeling awfully like a robot, like a cold, dead, stupid robot who can't be smart when it matters. "Ja. Ja. Have fun." It's snide.

She nods too, like she's trying to convince herself as much as me, absently running a hand through her flustered hair. "Goodbye."

"Bye."

My eyes follow her to the doorway, each step marking a beat of my failing heart. Turn around Lizzie. Please Lizzie, just turn around. Come back to me. Please come back to me. "Ich-!"

And then my beauty walks out the door.

"Good riddance!" I yell to the empty room after a few frozen minutes. Good fucking riddance.

It's raining on more than one face, as identical drops fall in the hallway, but I only feel my own pain as I sink to the floor and wish I could take everything back.

* * *

><p><strong>::AN::**

**Translations:  
><strong>**Auf Wiedersehen (German) = Goodbye  
>Ich- (German) = I-<br>**

**Well, I should really be getting to studying ^^; Hope everyone enjoys this~ Let the angst begin.**

**R&R kudasai~ I've been feeling a little uncertain again, about staying in character, keeping everything flowing, and building enough emotion. Feedback would be appreciated~~**


	11. STORY BEING MOVED

Hello faithful (and patient) humans!

So, as EVERYONE undoubtedly knows by now, fanfiction is cracking down and authors are fleeing for their lives.

I'll still be posting here for a bit longer, but eventually this story will have "explicit content" aka smut, so:

- follow me on tumblr for updates on all my stories: myneoterism .tumblr .com

- and LiveJournal: solatium_ mir .livejournal .com

(remove the spaces in the links)

By the way, school is almost out, which means actual updates. I have not died.

When I update this story on the places mentioned above, it will be fully edited (meaning richer and more engaging). I recommend you read it not only to refresh your memories, but to absorb the new information that I have added.

Thank you all again for this incredible amount of patience.


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